


You had me at 'Cybertron'

by BlushLouise



Series: Holoform [8]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: F/M, Families of Choice, Holoforms (Transformers), M/M, Mech Preg, Multi, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychology, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Species Change, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Transformer Sparklings, holoform sex, mental trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-07-12 08:05:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 58,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushLouise/pseuds/BlushLouise
Summary: The war is finally over. Now the hard part begins.Millions of years of fighting has left their scars on everyone. Cynosura, once Isobel Harrington of Earth, psychologist specialized in PTSD in soldiers, has her work cut out for her. And as if handling Starscream and Sunstreaker and the rest wasn't enough, she has to cope with life as a completely different species. No amount of human experience could have prepared her for life as a motorcycle.At least she'll now have an eternity of time to work with. Or so she'd thought. But millions of years of fighting means it's not just Cybertronians who're scarred. And there's a reckoning coming.Sequel to "You had me at 'holoform'".





	1. Waking up

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! I'm excited about this.
> 
> This is just the first chapter. I don't have a set posting schedule for this, and the only thing I know about chapter two's posting at this point is that I'll try to have it out by the end of the year. In the mean time, I'll be working on a bunch of little WIPs as well trying to write as much as possible of this before I begin scheduled posting. So keep an eye out!
> 
> Cynosura's alt mode is the Kawasaki J Concept Threewheeled motorcycle. Look it up, it's absolutely gorgeous.
> 
> And! If any of you would like to try drawing her as she is now, I would be absolutely thrilled. I can barely draw a straight line, so I would love your interpretations!
> 
> Till next time!

 

 ********...

**************...

**...

_Language module activated. Preparing translation program…_

_…_

_…_

_Translation program activated. Complete HUD language change initiated._

_…_

_…_

_Language change complete. Initiating boot-up._

_…_

_…_

_…_

_Boot-up complete. Activating motor control center._

_…_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_Motor control center activated. Sensory suite online._

“WAKE UP, LOVE. COME BACK TO ME. IT’S TIME TO WAKE UP NOW.”

_Involuntary motion registered. Audial input at maximum. Adjusting._

_…_

_Adjustment complete._

_Running systems check._

_Energon levels: maximum_

_Fuel pump expediency: within parameters_

_Self-repair diagnostics: within parameters_

_Motor control: functional_

_Memory access: limited. Rebooting memory core._

_Optical input: minimal. Rebooting optical center._

_…_

_Optical center rebooted._

There’s… light. It’s strangely green-tinted.

_Memory core rebooted. Accessing memory._

_…_

_…_

_…_

_Memory errors registered._

“Hello, child. What is your name?”

My mind is muddled. The someone’s speaking to me, I’m sure, but I don’t know how to reply. Or even what to reply.

_Designation: Cynosura._

No. No, that’s not right. Is it?

I’m Isobel. Isobel.

_Memory errors registered.._

_Vocalizer error registered. Rebooting vocalizer._

“Don’t worry, sparklet.” I look towards the sound. A familiar face is smiling at me. “Give your frame time to wake up properly.”

_Designation: Ratchet._

Yes. Yes, I remember Ratchet. He’s safe.

_Vocalizer rebooted._

“I’m… I’m Isobel. Aren’t I? But it says I’m… It says I’m Cynosura. I don’t understand.”

Ratchet smiles. “Do you remember yourself?”

_Memory cache accessed._

Suddenly, a myriad of images shoot through my mind. I see myself as a child with my family around me, on a plane with other familiar figures, in a large bed, running on a beach. The images flash past and fade away before I have the chance to recognize most of them, but they all feel familiar.

_Memory incomplete._

_Memory cache errors registered._

“I was Isobel, I remember that.” I speak slowly, trying to figure out how I’m doing it while I’m doing it. Everything feels different, like my mind isn’t connected to my body anymore. “There is… a lot of memory errors, it says. I don’t know what that means.”

“Do you remember us?”

I turn towards the new voice, and the little square of text that’s been informing me of my progress suddenly blasts into fast action again.

_Designation: First Aid._

_Potential bondmate identified._

_Initiate bonding procedure Y/N_

I choose N so fast I don’t even realize how I do it. My mind is still muddled, and I don’t feel like myself, but I still don’t like the sound of that. It sounds like bondage, and that is not something I want to do in a crowded room.

There’s something really strange about the entire request, but I can’t pinpoint what it is.

I do recognize the mech in front of me, though.

I smile at First Aid. My First Aid, my Protectobot, much smaller in my field of vision than usual. And still with that weird green tint.

_Visor detected._

… that might explain it. I guess the suit Wheeljack designed will take some getting used to.

That’s it. That’s what weird. I’m in Wheeljack’s suit. That actually explains a _lot_.

“I remember you. Hello, First Aid.”

He takes my hand, and I marvel how real it feels. Wheeljack really is a genius.

_Sensory suite levels: within parameters._

I pull myself up. The suit even moves like my own body would. Only then do I fully see the others in the room. “I remember all of you.”

_Designations: Groove. Sunstreaker._

_Sideswipe. Wheeljack. Jazz. Prowl. Optimus Prime._

_Alpha Trion._

Except that last one, him I don’t know. But I don’t care. Not when my heart is pulling me towards the two on my left.

“Groove. Sunstreaker.”

Groove beams a smile at me, his optics soft. He looks just as handsome as I remember.

_Potential courtmate identified._

Shut up, text box.

Sunstreaker, though. Sunstreaker looks haggard. I’d never thought he’d let himself get to such a state. I reach for him, and he simply falls forward into my lap as if all the struts and cables keeping him upright were severed at once.

My lap that’s much bigger than usual. I lift my hands, looking at them for the first time, noticing the white of my forearms and the pale silver of my intricately built palms.

Wheeljack’s suit is almost like a real Cybertronian.

I touch Sunstreaker’s warm plating, feel him trembling underneath my hands.

_Designation: Sunstreaker. Familial bond detected._

_No spark connection identified._

_No processor connection identified._

_Bond origin search unsuccessful._

_Bond identifier: brother._

_Alien relation incorporated._

_Processor connection required._

“Sunstreaker. It says you’re my brother.” I frown as the trembling intensifies. My brother is in pain. A quick glance at Sideswipe, and I can tell that at least it’s not getting worse. Sideswipe is smiling, beaming even, and he wouldn’t do that if Sunstreaker wasn’t okay. Or at least on the way to be.

So I look back at Ratchet. “It says a lot of things. I don’t understand.”

“That’s all right, sparklet. We’ll teach you.” He’s still smiling at me. His hand is on my back suddenly, supportive, strong, and I lean back gratefully.

I hear Ratchet and Alpha Trion talking to each other behind me, but my focus is all on Sunstreaker. The curve of his plating under my hand, all the tiny imperfections in his finish.

He used to be metal silk.

I glance at Sideswipe. I’m going to need his help if we’re going to get Sunstreaker back to himself.

Sideswipe tugs Sunstreaker up and off my lap, and I let go reluctantly. “Come on, love.” First Aid’s voice is as gentle as his touch as he takes hold of me. He hoists me up, steadying me as I get used to the suit’s legs. “We want you in a medical center for a while, until we’re sure you’re stable.”

That makes sense. I don’t feel too steady – I’m fairly sure I would have fallen over already if it wasn’t for First Aid supporting me.

It’s so weird to look straight into his face like this. The suit is a bit shorter than he is, but not much. I lift what feels like my face to look at him, and almost topple backward.

_Motor function center operating below standard._

_Equilibrium fault detected._

_Motor relay systems rebooting._

_…_

_Motor relay systems rebooted._

_Diagnostic: control error, left pede. Control error, right pede._

_Motor function center rebooting._

_…_

_…_

_Motor function center rebooted._

_Diagnostic: control error, left pede. Control error, right pede._

_Initiating deep scan._

Right. And there’s all that. Whatever the heck it means.

This suit Wheeljack built me must have a seriously powerful AI running it. I can’t keep up with what it’s spouting, but it’s clear enough that it affects my legs somehow. Main clue, of course, is how they don’t seem to work properly.

_Diagnostic: errant operating code, motor control relays._

I give up. That little text box is probably going to keep spouting nonsense at me, and none of it is helping me move my legs.

So I just lean against First Aid’s chest. It’s so strange, being of a size with him like this. We’re proportionate to my body and his holoform. And I’m really relieved that I can feel him under my fingertips. This suit is much more responsive than they let me believe.

“Carry me? My legs are giving me strange signals that I don’t understand.”

“You’ll learn.” First Aid doesn’t seem to be upset that he still has to cart me around. Not if his smile is anything to judge by.

And I still feel safe in his arms.

“Let’s go, love.” He moves with me easily, leaning down suddenly to kiss my throat.

I get another lesson in the sensitivity of Wheeljack’s suit, because it feels like I have electricity running through my veins. My chest is almost aching.

_Initiate bonding procedure Y/N_

I choose N, hiding my face against First Aid’s neck. Considering how connected I am to this thing, it wouldn’t surprise me if the blush is apparent on my face.

_Initiate spark merge Y/N_

No, dammit, and what? Wheeljack must have gotten the integration wrong somewhere.

I keep hiding my face, nixing request after request to do a bunch of stuff I’m fairly sure isn’t possible to do in this suit. I had actually expected Wheeljack to make a better robotic exosuit than this. Or maybe a more robotic one. With the way it’s talking at me, it’s like it’s trying to be a real Cybertronian.

First Aid keeps walking, following the others, his hand stroking down my back every now and then. It’s comforting, even though I have to turn off another slew of messages every time he does.

Eventually we emerge into sunlight. It’s warm, and I turn towards it eagerly, only to whimper and squeeze my eyes shut. I turn back and burrow against First Aid’s chest again.

_Optical cortex input: maximum. Dialing down._

_Dialing down failed. Rebooting optical center._

_Reboot failed._

_Diagnostic pending. Scanning visual center._

“Isobel? What’s wrong?” Groove’s worried voice is right next to my ear.

“Hurts,” I whine. “My eyes hurt.”

“Give me your arm, sparklet.” Ratchet is calm, in control, and I hold up my arm without hesitation. Something pops open, a hatch of some sort, and then Ratchet is in my mind.

It was weird before. It gets really, really, _really_ weird now.

~Easy, sparklet. I just need to look at you for a minute.~

His voice is in my head. And it didn’t get there through conventional means.

“Her visual center’s poorly calibrated,” he mutters. “And there’s a slew of error messages on everything from her audios to her pedes. Let’s get her back to medical, we need to do a full check on her systems.”

“Should we activate her cog?” First Aid sounds hesitant, and I don’t understand. It’s getting really tiring to be so out of the loop.

“No, there’s too much going on in her mind already. I’m afraid she’ll crash if we add any more.” Ratchet disappears from my mind again, and there’s a click before he releases my arm. “I had to shut your visual center down, sparklet, so unfortunately you’re blind for now. I know it must be disorienting. I’ll fix you proper when we get back.”

I pull away from First Aid’s chest carefully. When I try to open my eyes, nothing happens.

This suit has really integrated with my nervous system. I’m impressed and terrified all at once.

“Why don’t you transform, and we’ll take her back in your alt mode?” Ratchet suggests, and First Aid’s hand pauses on my back.

“Me? You don’t want to carry her yourself, to better keep an eye on her?”

Ratchet chuckles as he teases my Protectobot. “Why, didn’t you want to carry her yourself?”

I’m down on my feet and in Groove’s arms before I have time to take another breath. Another thing that feels weird.

Without the input from my eyes, I sway in place. The condition of my legs isn’t helping. Groove doesn’t let me fall, though.

“Easy, Isobel.” His voice is soft, gentle, and I have to N another of those infernal demands. “I’ve got you.”

Ignoring the requests that keep peppering that information box, as well as the ache in my chest, I melt against him. “Hi, Groove. I missed you.”

He laughs lightly and kisses my forehead. “Likewise, Belle. Primus, it’s so good to have you back.” He takes hold of my shoulders, directing me to move. “Come on. Aid’s waiting for you.”

“Will you come with?” I ask impulsively. The thing with Groove was brand new when they left Earth, but it feels like we’ve still got something, and I don’t want to let him go.

Another kiss, to the back of my head this time. “I promise,” he murmurs. “Not leaving you now, dearest Belle.”

He guides me into First Aid’s alt mode, has me lie back so Aid can strap me in.

“It’s a long road and a little bumpy,” he warns. “But you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll see you later then,” I murmur, trying to relax. “Don’t go away.”

“He’ll be right next to us,” First Aid chuckles. “Relax, love.”

The pad I’m on begins to vibrate. I groan as I melt against it, and straps are secured across my suit.

In no time at all I’m asleep.

 

When I open my eyes again, I’ve been moved. There’s a ceiling above me, bright lights, monitors beeping.

Medbay. Or whatever is the peacetime equivalent.

I turn my head, see the never-ending amount of equipment I’m hooked up to. I don’t understand how it can be necessary with this much work – it’s just a  simple suit.

Maybe it wasn’t finished when they put me into it?

“Ah, good, you’re awake.” Ratchet steps into my field of vision, giving me a smile. “How do you feel?”

As if the words were a signal, the little text box starts up again.

_Memory cache errors identified._

_Control center errors identified._

_Fuel levels: maximum._

_Self-repair: within parameters._

“I’m okay,” I reply, sitting up on the bed. Berth now, I guess. “The suit’s still giving me a slew of weird information, but I feel okay.”

Ratchet pauses, looks at me strangely. “I see. Isobel, would you mind if I connected to you again? I’d like a closer look at your code.”

I shrug. As I do, some part of the suit behind my shoulder thunks into a monitor stand. It stings.

_Diagnostic: dent detected._

_Predicted repair: minor. Self repair sufficient._

I wince. “Ouch. Yeah, sure. How did I feel that?”

“I’ll explain afterward,” Ratchet says as he settles down next to me. “Now, give me your arm.”

I stretch out my right arm for him, marveling again at the pearly while metal covering most of it. “What do I do?”

“For now, nothing,” he replies, taking my hand. “I can override your panel controls. But eventually, you have to learn to send these commands yourself.”

A small panel on my forearm pops open, revealing a set of ports. Ratchet unspools a cable from his own arm. And then he connects it to me, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to pull a wire from yourself and stick it into someone else.

Well, I’m on Cybertron now. It probably is.

_Medical codes recognized._

Ratchet’s optics flicker, and I can feel him in my head, rifling through things. It’s enough to make me dizzy.

“Lie back down, sparklet,” he murmurs. “Don’t need you keeling over on me.”

I tip backward gently until I’m horizontal again. It helps somewhat.

“Visual and audial center both look good,” Ratchet continues. “I’m going to need to run a diagnostic on your motor control center, and I’ll scan your frame as well. There may be some problems with your hip joints. And it looks like… Yeah, it looks like your frame’s running a bit too far on the autonomous side.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the frame’s autonomous system’s determining more of your actions than is normal. More than I expected, I mean.” Ratchet replies. He digs through my head some more, then chuckles. “Primus, Isobel, you’ve denied… twenty-seven bonding requests and almost as many merge requests since you onlined. That’s not how it’s meant to work. We need to dial back the sensitivity on that thing.”

“Are you saying that that wasn’t supposed to happen?” I fight another wave of dizziness as Ratchet does something in the suit’s code, though it feels like my real mind.

“No. You’re supposed to make that kind of decision consciously. It’s not supposed to keep prompting you.” He frowns. “There are indications of coding errors in your control center. And your memory cache is patchy – there is nothing wrong with the actual module, but there are recollection errors.” He disconnects from me, though it takes a few moments before the dizziness subsides. “Do you remember why you’re here? On Cybertron, I mean?”

I close my eyes. The ceiling light is too sharp. “I remember being back in Ireland and First Aid coming to see me. He had Parker with him, and he asked me to come back here. They said I was needed. Wheeljack had built this monstrous chamber to keep me in for the journey, and I was going to be put into a suit when we got here. They told me that Starscream and the Stunticons and Vortex needed my help.”

Ratchet nods. “That’s all correct. What about before that? The decade since we left? The time on the base? What about before you met the Autobots?”

I think back.

_Memory cache error registered._

_Memory: faulty._

A barrage of images hits me. I see myself as a child, with my family. Celebrating someone’s birthday. Graduating. A million little moments. I see the ‘Bots, partying on Diego Garcia, Blaster in his demon holoform. First Aid massaging me, Sunstreaker’s intense stare. All my metal family.

Many enough to drown in. But not enough for a lifetime.

I can’t remember my favorite color. The name of the hamster I had as a child. The song I danced to at my senior prom. The names of my best friends growing up. Where I actually traveled after the Autobots left me.

So much is gone.

“I can’t remember,” I whisper. It’s devastating, really. It feels like my eyes should be tearing up, but the suit isn’t reacting the way my body would.

Ratchet seems to get it anyway. “I suspected as much. I’m sorry, sparklet.” His hand squeezes mine. “I’m going to have to put you in stasis to work on your frame controls. I want to talk to you some more first, though. Are you up for that?”

I nod dumbly. I’m still struggling to take in that I can’t remember where my brother was stationed. Or what we used to eat for Christmas dinners.

“Ratchet, why don’t I remember?” My voice is faint, almost more of a breath. “How did this happen?”

“Well, that’s connected to what I want to talk to you about.” He sighs, takes my hand again. “Isobel, there’s something you don’t know.”

I look toward him again, trying to push back the grief of my lost memories again. I can handle that later. “What is it?”

Ratchet, uncharacteristically enough, looks nervous. “I’m not sure I know how to say this, sparklet. So I’m just going to jump right into it. Okay?”

I frown at him. “Ratchet, you’re making it sound like I’m dying.”

He chuckles, but it’s clearly forced. I wonder why he bothers. “No. No, sparklet, you’re not. But you were.”

And then he tells me. Of the accident they had in space. Of how my chamber nearly became my coffin. Of First Aid never leaving my side, even when I was for all intents and purposes living only in the widest definition of the word. Of how I ended up as some form of Schroedinger’s Isobel, both alive and dead at once.

Of why I woke up near Alpha Trion.

Of why my memory’s faulty – apparently, some my clearest recollections are the ones collected from the ‘Bots and ‘Cons sharing their sparks with Alpha Trion to help build mine. I owe a lot of my early memories to the video and files of myself that I gave First Aid. The process wasn’t kind on my memories.

I hold up my hand, squeezing my eyes shut, and Ratchet stops mid-word. He’s silent as I work my way through the realization. The memories spin in my head.

I remember my doctoral thesis. Most of my training. None of my cases before I came to the Autobots.

So much for being a fully trained psychologist still.

… I’m not even sure I’m _me_ still.

The frame was right, I realize suddenly. I am more Cynosura than Isobel right now.

_Optical cleansing fluid leakage detected._

Case in point.

I’ve barely lifted my hands – _my_ hands – to rub the tears away when Ratchet’s arms enfold me. He’s big, and solid, and warm, and I curl against him gratefully.

Strong, gentle hands stroke over my back, over bumps and seams that are part of my body now. “Shh, sparklet. It’ll be okay.”

It’s comforting that he’s still bigger than me. Even if it’s not by much.

After what seems like an age, but the little clock in my field of vision tells me was really just seven minutes and forty-five and one seventh of a second, I finally manage to get my breathing under control. It cools me down, and an orange exclamation mark that had appeared on my screen disappears again.

I straighten up and rub at my cheeks. My hands come away shiny. “Ratchet, I’m going to need a crash course in how to be Cybertronian.”

“Don’t worry.” He smiles at me, and it sooths my nerves a bit. “We’ll teach you. Now, I’d like for you to be mobile sooner rather than later, so do you mind if I put you under now and check your hip joints? And we’ll go over your coding at the same time.”

I nod and lie back. “Sure. You do what you have to do. I’ll just be sedated or something, right? Like for surgery on Earth?”

“Almost the same thing,” he agrees. “Medical stasis. You won’t be aware of what’s happening, but there’ll be no pain when you wake up.”

“Sounds good.” I close my eyes – optics. “Do your thing.”

_Medical codes recognized. Medical stasis initiated._

 

 

When I wake up next, it feels more familiar. More like it used to. There’s not barrage of text in that little box, a lot fewer symbols pulling at my attention. The world doesn’t look green anymore, either.

And First Aid is there.

“Hey, Isobel.” He’s smiling this tired smile, like he’s been up for too long.

I frown at him. “You are not allowed to run yourself ragged just waiting for me to wake up.”

“It’ll be hard to break him of that habit now,” Groove’s voice says. “He’s been hovering over you for a vorn.” I turn my head to see him leaning against the wall on the other side of the berth. He’s smiling too, calm and easy, like always.

Groove is rock solid. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated that as much as now.

Wait.

“For a vorn? What is a vorn?”

_Vorn ≈ 83 years._

Huh. Ratchet’s made my screen useful. That helps.

Wait, what?

“Eighty-three years?” My voice climbs through two octaves. “I was out that long?”

“I’m afraid so,” First Aid replies. His hand is drawing tiny circles on my forearm. “It took time for your spark to grow.”

“That’s… I can’t wrap my mind around that. That’s crazily long.” I look straight up at the ceiling. My surprise is probably showing on my face at this point.

“I bet it’s difficult to wrap your mind around the entire situation.” Groove’s hand strokes down the arm First Aid isn’t touching. “What can we do to help?”

“I have no idea.” I look between the two of them. “I’ve never had to adjust to getting a new body before.” I look down at the body in question. It’s mostly concealed by a blanket, but I can see the general shape of it. It doesn’t tell me anything more than I already knew – I have two legs and am vaguely human-shaped. “I don’t even know what it looks like.”

“Well, we can remedy that, at least.” Groove looks at his brother, a grin on his bright face. “There’s a full-length mirror in the wash racks, isn’t there?”

First Aid’s grin mirrors his brother’s. They’re suddenly eerily similar, despite the fairly different color schemes. “What do you say, love? Want to look over our handiwork?”

I take hold of their arms and pull myself up into a seated position. “Why not? I have to see what kind of creative liberties you’ve taken.”

With the help of both of them, I manage to find my feet. I’m a lot more steady than last time. It’s a relief to be able to walk on my own.

“Ratchet found the problem,” First Aid explains as I shuffle in the direction they point me. “There was an error in the impulse reader that was connected to your pelvic assembly. It basically told your processor that your hip was out of alignment.”

“Oh, well, we can’t have that,” I agree, as if I know what he’s talking about. “Now let go of me for a moment, mechs. Give a femme a chance to test her legs, okay?”

Groove laughs and kisses my cheek. That feels like it used to as well, despite the fact that he seems to be dodging some kind of protrusions on my helmet. “You’re going to be awesome, Belle.”

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” I try to be serious, but it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be, and my cheek is kind of tingling where he kissed it.

“No,” he replies, and his tone’s suddenly soft. Instead of letting me go, he cradles my face. “You’re beautiful, Belle. Inside and out. So as long as you let me, I’m going to keep saying it.”

His optics are gold behind their glass visors. They pull me in, closer to this mech who is so like his brother yet not, this mech who’s such a source of strength to the both of us when we need it, who’s always been there for me.

I don’t plan to kiss him. But I’m not surprised when I do anyway. And Groove just pulls me closer, deepening the kiss until I’m completely lost in him and have to hold on to him to stay upright.

“Well, now you’re making me jealous,” First Aid says lightly behind me. “I want a kiss too.”

I break it off and turn in Groove’s grip. “Come here, then. Your brother isn’t letting me go.”

Groove smiles against my throat, finding an area that’s so much more sensitive than I ever thought metal could be. “Damn right I’m not. Aid, you’re going to have to share.”

“I thought we’d already agreed on that.” First Aid smiles broadly as he steps into my arms, and I marvel at how I can actually embrace him in this form. “I am a bit offended that you stole the first kiss, though. After all, she was mine first.”

“Are you two going to be bickering over me like I’m a new toy constantly?” I tease. “Maybe I’d be better off staying with Optimus and Ratchet again?”

“Don’t you dare,” Groove hums, and the feeling of those words against my sensitive neck has my knees buckling. “You’re ours.”

“We’ll behave.” First Aid is practically crooning. “But we’ve also missed you. Constantly. So you, my love, had better get used to fending us off with a big stick if you want us to stay away.” His nose bumps mine, traces across my cheek like he’s drawing in my scent. His hands rest on my hip, thumbs stroking the upper edge of part of my leg plating – and it’s still so weird that I have that – and sending tiny electric impulses into my frame. I tingle all over, feeling warmer and warmer.

“Good thing I don’t plan to let you get out of my sight then,” I murmur, chasing First Aid’s mouth. “Maybe I should get leashes instead of a big stick.”

Groove’s engine revs sharply behind me, and the vibrations go through my stomach and down into my groin. I don’t get the chance to think about what that means, because First Aid chooses that moment to finally kiss me.

If I weren’t sandwiched tightly between them, I would seriously be on the ground.

Kissing is much the same in this form as it was when I was human. The fact that his lips still feel soft throws me a bit, but I’m not too surprised by it. I remember Ironhide and Chromia, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, Blades and Slingshot. Among others.

There are two sets of hands moving over my body, teasing and stroking, and I’m warming up under their touches. That little orange exclamation mark is back, changing to red as I look at it. Then something turns on in me, some form of fan pulling cooler air into my systems, and it flickers back to orange.

Right. I’m a machine now. I’m apparently air-cooled.

I don’t get as much time to consider that as I probably need to, because First Aid’s mouth leaves mine to move down to my throat, teasing and licking like Groove was doing earlier.

“Ratchet just commed me,” he says calmly, conversationally, like this is a normal situation and not me being teased and touched into submission. “He says there will be no fragging in his medical center, thank you very much, but since we’ve already driven her this far we have his permission to go for a tactile overload. It won’t do her any harm.”

Groove chuckles against the side of my head. “Arrogant fragger. Like we need his permission.”

I moan at the sensation. Who knew my ears were erogenous in this form? Or whatever I have that passes for ears.

“We do need hers, though,” First Aid counters. “This is new to her, too. She’s probably hypersensitive everywhere.”

“If you two don’t stop talking over my head,” I threaten breathlessly, “I’m going to leave, and you can touch each other instead.”

First Aid laughs, lifting his head and looking at me. “Noted. Isobel, do we have your permission to drive you insensate with pleasure?”

Groove punctuates the question with small nips to my throat.

“Just don’t let me fall,” I gasp, leaning back into the touches.

“Never.” First Aid’s voice is almost a growl. “Never letting you fall. Never letting you go.”

Then he kisses me fiercely, as Groove presses against my back, and two sets of hands are touching me, two engines vibrating against me, and it’s all I can do to hold on. I can feel something rise in me, burning and boiling until I’m trembling with it, and all it takes is Groove breathing hot air over my ear to let it swallow me.

I surface a little while later, still overly warm, still stuck between my two Protectobots. First Aid is grinning at me. “Was that okay?”

“That was amazing,” I admit, because it was. “What was it?”

“That, my dearest Belle, was an overload,” Groove replies, kissing my cheek. “Achieved through tactical stimulation of your frame.”

I shake my head. “I think I need a dictionary.”

“Later,” First Aid promises. “Now, I believe we were planning to find a mirror.” He steps back with clear reluctance and takes my hand.

“Please.” I step away from Groove, taking his hand as well. “You have no idea how disorienting it is to not even know what I look like.”

My balance and movement really is much better. I even feel looser and more relaxed than I did when they pulled me out of bed. Maybe it’s the overload’s fault. I guess I have to ask First Aid about that.

_Overload: a reset of circuit breakers in the frame, often resetting minor systems as well. Effect is beneficial, as it can clear back-up queues and contribute to an increased sense of well-being._

Or I guess I can just ask that little square.

Regardless of the reason, I feel better than I have since I woke up in this body. I’m almost prancing as we turn the corner to find what’s probably the right door. At least it opens easily in front of us, revealing a large room with a rubbered floor and several showerheads.

“The wash racks,” First Aid announces grandly. “Mirror is this way.”

I follow him around the corner and come to a dead stop.

The mirror covers the entire end wall. I can’t imagine what they’d need such a massive reflective surface for. There are small tables and shelves and stuff on the walls surrounding it, but I don’t really notice what they’re for.

I can’t see anything but the strange bot in the mirror.

It’s clearly a femme. She’s got the same curves as Arcee and Chromia does – the narrower waist, the slimmer and smoother thighs. Still, she doesn’t look like either of them.

She’s white. Not Wheeljack’s bright white, more of a mother-of-pearl finish, with a subtle gleam. Her pelvis is emerald green, like her optics and the gentle slope of her shoulders and upper chest. There are gold lines edging the green.

“Green optics.” I look at First Aid questioningly. “Why green? No one has green?”

“Wheeljack matched them to your spark,” he explains. One of his hands is rubbing my arm, as if he means to soothe or comfort.

I stare. In the mirror, the optics brighten. “I have a green spark?” Then I shake my head. “Never mind. At least it explains why everything had a green tint at first.”

First Aid nods. “Ratchet recalibrated your visual center, and adjusted the setting of your visor. It cancels out the tint.”

I have no idea what that means. So I go back to examining the bot in the mirror.

Aside from the green optics, the wheels are the most eye-catching.

I’m used to seeing wheels on bots. Wheels on backs, wheels on shoulders, wheels along legs. But I’ve never seen metal-encased wheels like these before.

She has strange, white wheels on the outside of her knee joints. They look like they’re two halves of a whole, meant to connect together when she transforms. The whole structure is as bright white as the rest of her plating. There are matching wheels on her shoulder, bright white metal shapes, and from the center of each one a long metal blade curves backwards.

One of them’s dented. I guess that was what I knocked into the berth earlier.

The face, though. Silver, with delicate features, wide optics behind a clear visor, and a shapely mouth.

She looks like me. Only prettier.

The white helm is more slender and rounded than Chromia’s. There are a pair of slim vents alongside each cheek, kind of like Mirage’s but even narrower, and these sweeping, long metal strips rising up on either side of her helm.

“Holy crap,” I breathe. “I really am Cynosura.”

Groove steps up behind me, putting white hands on my green hips. “It’s based around the Cynosura design. Mirage did the actual painting, he decided to add the highlights.”

I twirl, turn my head to look at myself from different angles. Aside from the wheels and fins sticking out of them, there isn’t a lot of kibble. I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to be.

I run my right hand across my left shoulder wheel. “I have an alt mode?”

First Aid steps closer and nods. “Most gorgeous three-wheeler I’ve ever seen.”

“Three-wheeler?” I frown in confusion. “Like a tricycle? And don’t I have four wheels?” I twist my leg, look at those strange half-wheels again.

Groove chuckles. “Not a tricycle, Belle. Your back wheel’s a split wheel, down there by your knee joints.” His hand follows mine as it traces the shoulder wheel. “These are you front wheels on your shoulders, and they also operate like two halves of a hole. It would be more precise to say that you’re a two-wheeler whose front wheel is actually two wheels operating independently. And these are handlebars, one side connected to one wheel.” He teases across the bladelike fin, making me shiver.

I turn again, looking at the slim handlebars. They make little sense in this configuration. “Can I see? Transform?”

“I’d love to show you, love,” First Aid says regretfully, “because your alt mode is beautiful. But transforming is a fairly complex maneuver. We’d like for you to have control over simpler things and know how to find simple commands in your coding and navigate your own HUD before you try that.”

I nod. “That’s fair. Is there a picture or something, though?”

Groove nuzzles the back of my helm. “Hound can show you next time he comes by.” I get the feeling that that’s a promise, and that Groove will send Hound to see me sooner rather than later. He kisses the slim blade of metal on the side of my head, sending shivers down my spine. If I have a spine.

Those things are apparently really, _really_ sensitive.

“Unless you want to do the overload thing to me again, you’d better stay away from those,” I warn him.

Groove grins, and it looks decidedly naughty. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind doing that again.”

“Another time,” First Aid says firmly, with a stern glance at his brother. His hand moves, and I feel a tingle running through my frame as he scans me. “You need to refuel and recharge, Isobel. We should get you back to the berth.”

I pout. It looks more attractive than it should. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“In the medical center?” Groove chortles. “Ratchet will release you when he sees fit.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.” I reach out, take one white hand in each of mine. Pull my mechs closer to me. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“I can’t.” Groove kisses my cheek again. He seems to like that. “I have a shift tonight. But Aid is staying. Right next to you on the berth, I’ll bet.”

First Aid looks smug. “Ratchet won’t stop me.”

All of a sudden I’m dead tired. It’s like my mind has had pretty much all it could take of this, and now it doesn’t want to operate anymore. In the mirror, I can see those green optics dimming even as I watch.

“Okay,” I agree, and I can hear that I sound half asleep already. “Back to berth.”

If it weren’t for the pair of them supporting me, I would have fallen asleep right there in the wash rack and just stayed there. Instead, I’m shuffled along, guided back towards the berth. I watch with bleary optics, leaning on Groove, as First Aid’s expert touch turns the thing from a single to a double.

Cool.

“Come on, love,” First Aid says, and Groove simply scoops me up and deposits me on the soft surface. He kisses my helm as First Aid crawls in next to me.

“Good night, Belle. Night, Aid. I’ll see you two tomorrow.” Groove winks and kisses First Aid’s cheek as well. “Pleasant recharge.” Then he walks out.

I curl up against First Aid’s warm frame. It feels divine. “Your brother likes kissing people.”

“Groove is very affectionate.” There’s fondness in his voice. “And he really cares for you.”

“I really like him, too.” I yawn widely, and First Aid looks at me like I’ve done something really cute.

“You know you don’t have to do that in this form.”

“Don’t care.” I lean my head against his chest. “Felt right.”

His chuckle rumbles against my ear fin thing. It tickles.

“Everything’s so different,” I mumble. “I don’t know how I’ll ever get used to it.”

“You’ll be fine. You always are, love. This won’t stop you.”

Even though my mind is a muddle and my frame is half asleep, I still can’t stop thinking. So much is different from what I expected that I don’t have the faintest idea what’s going to happen anymore. Or how I will react to anything.

“Am I still what you want?” The words slip out before I even have the chance to notice I’m thinking them. But I’m not surprised at how heart-felt they are, or how nervous I am to hear his answer. So little of me remains that I don’t know who I am anymore, so how can I expect them to want me like they did before?

First Aid twists and looks down at me. “Of course you are, love.” He reaches out to pull me close. “I know you feel like you’ve lost a part of yourself right now. But missing memories doesn’t change who you are, Isobel. You’re still you.”

“I don’t feel like me. I’ve forgotten so much.” I frown. “Though for some reason, I remember my thesis word for word.”

First Aid chuckles. “That’s my fault. I may have read everything you’ve ever published back before we left Earth the first time. I’ve downloaded the texts into your memory.” He kisses my head. “I’m sorry.”

I manage to force my optics to stay online for a bit longer. “Don’t be. That actually helps. At least I won’t be useless.”

“You wouldn’t have been useless even if you’d forgotten every single thing you ever learned about psychology.” First Aid’s voice is soft but insistent, before turning apologetic. “I also have a confession to make. I scanned your diaries and downloaded those to your memory as well. I know they weren’t for me to read, but I thought you might want them.”

“My diaries?” I’m confused now. Probably more confused than necessary, considering how tired I am. “Then why can’t I remember those?”

“Because they’re scanned as images. But you can sit down and read them again if you want. It might help with your lost memories.”

The last twenty plus years of my life are in those diaries. I’ve kept them since I graduated from high school, more or less continuously.

I exhale in relief. My past isn’t lost. It’s still there, in my head. I just have to find it.

“First Aid, I love you.” I snuggle close and finally let my optics dim completely.

The soft chuckle I get in return vibrates pleasantly through my plating. “And I love you. Now sleep, love. We can handle everything else tomorrow.”

It’s not a hard command to obey. Not warm and comfortable in his arms as I am.

“G’night, Aid.”

“Night, Isobel.”


	2. A brand new day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! It's finally time to continue this for real. Thanks for your patience, dear readers!  
> I'm aiming to update this about once a month. It may be faster at times, when I have the time and capability.  
> Merry Christmas! I hope you'll have an amazing holiday!

_Dear diary,_

  1. _Am. So. Bored._



_I’m still stuck in medbay. Ratchet won’t let me go until he’s satisfied that I’m in the best possible shape. At this point, he’s triple-checked my coding twice, once with the help of Perceptor, and he’s run so many diagnostic tools on me that I’ve started to make up pet names for them._

_My favorite is the Evil Green Gadget of Doom._

_At least I can keep a diary again. Perceptor brought me this iPad-looking thing he called a datapad and a stylus I can use. So I write on it just like it was paper, and it saves._

_It’s actually familiar technology. I could do much the same on Earth a hundred years ago._

_On Earth a hundred years ago._

_I still can’t believe I’m on an alien planet and have been out of it for a century. It probably would have helped if I could see it, see that I’m on Cybertron and not on Earth – but the one time I’ve been outside since I woke up was when they brought me from Alpha Trion’s cave to this med center, and I was effectively blind then. And now my room doesn’t have a window, and I can’t even go outside, because Ratchet’s sitting on me all the time. Good thing my metal plating can take it._

_Still, I want to get out of here. I get why Ratchet’s doing this, I’m fairly unprecedented, but I need to get out. I can’t help anyone from in here, and I can’t learn anything either._

_Groove and First Aid are here as often as they can, but they can’t be here all the time. Aside from Perceptor, I haven’t seen anyone else. And that’s a bit grating, too._

_I mean, Sunstreaker’s out there, needing me. I want to see my friends – talk to Bluestreak and Bumblebee and Mirage, Skyfire, Eject and Laserbeak and Jazz and Prowl and Arcee and Rewind. All of them._

_I want to help the ones I was brought here to help._

_And I want to have less bloody time to wallow to myself over the fact that everyone I knew on Earth, everyone, is dead and gone._

_Lennox is dead. Unless people have figured out how to live comfortably past hundred and five or so._

_Parker is dead. So is Alice. So is Catherine, and mrs. Stepanyan. They’re all gone._

_And I hate that I didn’t get to see Alice’s son grow up. I hate that I don’t know how Earth is doing. And I really, really hate that I can never tell them what happened to me._

_I feel like I’ve been displaced, somehow, dragged from the space in the universe where I thought I fit and into a new existence. It’s really hard to handle._

_I’ve got to get Ratchet to let me out of here._

Getting Ratchet to let me go turns out to be easier said than done. Because I still can’t find my coding for everything, he says. I still can’t find the manual release button for my diagnostic ports most of the time, I still don’t understand my own frame readings – what I can see of them, anyway. I still have issues with my fueling, and I still haven’t transformed.

Ratchet is such a mother hen.

So I’m practicing by doing laps in my room. Back and forth between the wall and my berth. I’ve gotten unsteady on my feet again, which is annoying. I’m also doing exercises to test my mobility, which I don’t seem to have, and my flexibility, which is also abysmal. At least I know to try those from the safety of my own berth, so I’m at less risk of hurting myself when I do inevitably fall over.

I’m standing up again, in the middle of trying to touch my own neck without whacking myself with my shoulder blades, when the door opens.

“Hey, Earthling! Can I come in?”

I grin at Smokescreen. “Please do! I’m so bored I’m about to see if I can eat my berth.”

“Hah! I wouldn’t recommend that.” Smokescreen saunters into my room. “We’re not really created to ingest solid metal. Though I commend your creativity.” He stops in front of me and looks me up and down. “Wow. I mean, I saw the frame before it was you, but it looks even better with you in it.”

“Thanks! I’m still getting used to it, but it feels good so far.” I dump back on the berth. My new body has the stamina of someone who’s spent eight months on bed rest for pneumonia or something. Which isn’t too far from the truth. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” he replies with real feeling. “It’s really great to get that image of you stuck in stasis and bleeding out of my processor. And it’s good to see you up on your pedes.”

“Yeah, I feel better. I still have a ways to go, but I feel better.” I shrug, which is an interesting movement with all my new kibble. My handlebars dip behind me. “I need to get used to myself.”

“Ratchet is keeping you here, isn’t he,” Smokescreen guessed.

I nod. “Yeah. He says he can’t risk letting me leave yet. Since I’m such a unique case and all. Though I do have problems seeing how just letting me walk around the building would be enough to bring me into mortal danger.”

Smokescreen frowns. “Hasn’t anyone told you? This building stands on an unstable pile of rubble. There’s no walking around it. Even running into the wall too fast can cause the whole thing to collapse.”

I must have looked seriously incredulous, because in the next moment he’s laughing at me. Hard. “Nah, I’m just kidding with you, Cynosura. We’re smack dab in the middle of the rebuilt part of Iacon. There is an apartment building to the left of us, a park to the right, and a vacant lot behind us slated for construction sometime in the next vorn. It’s all as safe as can be.”

“You utter slagger,” I grumble, but I’m laughing. It really is good to see him. “An apartment building, huh? Who lives there?”

“Hoist and Grapple do,” Smokescreen replies. “Reflector, I think, and Huffer. Windcharger. A few Neutrals.”

That catches my attention. “Neutrals?”

He smiles. “Yeah, we have Neutrals now. They keep coming back. Turns out there were small settlements on remote planets and asteroids here and there throughout the universe, and now they’re all coming home. The population has tripled since peace happened.”

“That’s good.” It’s really good. There’s hope for them – for us – yet.

“Hey, do you want to see the park?” Smokescreen offers me a hand.

“I would love to,” I reply, letting him pull me to my feet – pedes. “But Ratchet won’t let me outside.”

“Leave the Hatchet to me,” he replies with a grin. Then there’s a ping in my head.

_Accept incoming comm Y/N_

I choose Y. It’s one of the first times I’ve done that since I woke up.

::Hey, Ratchet,:: Smokescreen says in my head. ::I’m taking Isobel to the park next door. She’s clear for that, right?::

::She’s not clear for anything,:: Ratchet grouses back. ::She’s staying here.::

::You’re going to keep her in that room?:: Smokescreen sounds surprised. ::I thought you wanted her to exert her tensile cables? She can’t really do that in here, can she? Oh, unless you’re doing intense physical therapy with her?:: He flashes me a grin. ::Sorry, I guess that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? I’ll butt out, then. Though I’m surprised you have time for that, considering all those maintenance checks you were complaining about.::

There’s an ominous silence on the comm channel, and then Ratchet groans. ::Fine. I can tell you’re plotting something, but you’re right, slag you. I don’t have the time to do physical therapy on her when she’s capable of moving on her own. But if you take her out of the park,:: and here his voice turns threatening, ::you will be slowly dismantled.::

::Understood.:: Smokescreen winks at me, one optic dimming. ::I’ll get her some energon, and we’ll sit outside and refuel. I’ll make sure she’s okay.::

::You’d better,:: Ratchet replies sharply. ::I’m pretty much entrusting my sparklet to you here, Smokescreen.::

Smokescreen softens. I can see it.

So do I, for that matter. His sparklet, he said.

::Roger that. Smokescreen out.::

The comm line closes.

I look up at Smokescreen. “Just like that.”

“Just like that,” he confirms with a smile. “What do you say, girl? Want to go outside?”

“Please,” I reply fervently. “Lead the way.”

I do take the offer to lean against his arm, though. Considering my legs are doing their best to make me fall over.

I’m especially glad of the support when we turn away from the wash racks and I see the ramp that slopes downstairs.

Because of course it’s a ramp. That makes a lot more sense than a staircase would.

It’s no less scary though.

“Now, if you could transform, we could coast down there,” Smokescreen muses. “But I think Ratchet really would take me apart if I started you off with that. So we’ll just walk slowly down, okay? It’s just a few floors.”

“Right. Just a few floors.” Still, I feel like I’m about to skateboard down the edge of Grand Canyon. “Don’t let go of me, okay?”

“Don’t worry.” He flashes me a grin. “I have no desire to end up on that many hit lists.”

I have to laugh. “They’re kind of defensive of me, aren’t they.”

“That they are. You heard Ratchet.” He pats my arm. “Now stop procrastinating. It’s just a ramp.”

I let him lead me, and surprisingly, it’s manageable. The ramp has clearly been designed with both bipedal and wheeled bots in mind – it slopes gently, and there’s some form of coating on the surface of it to give better grip. I barely need Smokescreen’s help.

When we get down, I see daylight for the first time in what seems like years. It’s flowing in through the transparent doors in the front of the building, illuminating the soft angles and warm metal colors around me.

It’s like a balm. I can’t not smile.

There’s a bot sitting behind a desk near the front doors. She’s lithe and green and smiling at me. “Hello, Cynosura. I’m Greenlight. It’s good to see you out and about!”

“Thanks! It’s nice to meet you.” I smile back. It hadn’t really occurred to me that I’ll be meeting bots I don’t already know here. It should have been obvious, though, since they’ve had eighty-three years to bring people back, and I’ve been out of it for most of that time.

“I’m taking her outside,” Smokescreen says. He leads me to the desk, letting me lean on it. “Wait here, I’m just going to get us some fuel.”

“Yes, Ratchet told me.” She frowns slightly at Smokescreen, but it’s not an angry expression – if anything, it reminds me of how Catherine would frown at me when I’d been overexerting myself. “Don’t push him, Smokescreen. He’s only got her best interest in mind.”

“Not discussing that with you,” he replies in a sing-song voice. “Wait right there, pretty!”

As he vanishes around a corner, I turn my focus back to Greenlight. It’s the perfect opportunity to ask questions and get some more information about this world I’ve woken up on, but suddenly I can’t think of anything to say. Luckily, she takes mercy on me.

“So how’re you liking your frame so far?”

I look down at myself. “I don’t really have much basis for comparison, but it’s good. I’m still not used to it though – I keep trying to bend in ways I just don’t bend anymore, stuff like that.”

“I can understand that.” She leans forward, and there’s this eager look on her face I’ve only even seen on Wheeljack before. “You were organic, right? How did that work? I’ve read all that’s available about Earth and its denizens, but with all the focus on rebuilding and integration there hasn’t been much time for anyone to write papers. I’m still waiting for Skyfire’s book, he’s been finishing it for ages. And there are so many things I’d like to know!”

I grin. This, at least, is easy. “Well, I’d be happy to answer questions, if I can. I did live there for half a human lifetime.”

Greenlight launches into her questions, and for a moment, all I can do is gape. She wants to know everything, from how hurricanes work to scientific advancements in prosthetics to fetal development to the resilience of the eco-system. But there is one question there that catches my attention.

“I really don’t know how it differs,” I have to admit, and I just know I’m blushing. “I can tell you about human reproduction and sexuality, but I don’t – I haven’t…” I stop, take a deep breath. In-vent. Whatever. “I haven’t learned that much about Cybertronians yet. I can’t really run a comparison.”

Luckily for my dignity, Greenlight just nods. “I can understand that. That’s not really a top priority when you’re getting used to a new frame. I’m also mainly asking because I’m curious.” She flashes me a smile.

I realize suddenly that I know the perfect bot for this. “You know who you should ask? You should talk to Bumblebee.”

“You think I could?” She sounds hopeful.

I shrug. “I don’t know what anyone’s doing these days, but I can’t see why you couldn’t. Bee had the most specialized holoform of all the Earth Autobots, so he should be able to tell you some things.”

Smokescreen comes back then, saving me from any further embarrassing questions. He grins and offers me his arm. “Shall we, my lady?”

“We shall.” I take the offered arm, giggling at the attempt at human chivalry. “Lead the way, sir.”

The doors open automatically when we approach, and Smokescreen leads me outside.

For a moment, I almost think I’m blinded again. Then my visor darkens slightly, a helpful little text in the corner of my HUD informing me that my optics have now been sufficiently shielded, and I’m finally free to look at my new homeworld.

I remember the cityscapes in my Cybertron 101. The planet was beautiful back then, and it still is. But the difference from that to this is like night and day. It’s like comparing the majesty of Colosseum to the smallish stone farmhouses I saw on Inishmore. Just a lot more – new.

“It’s so… shiny.”

Smokescreen chuckles. “Yeah, this is all fairly recent construction. We’re only building what we can maintain, only restoring what we need. I think this block is about half a vorn old.” He looks around. “That’s also why it’s not very elaborate, and why Grapple complains a lot. There’s no art to these buildings, he says.”

I’m shaking my head before he’s even done talking. “That’s not true. It’s just a different style.” Different, and to me, achingly, hauntingly familiar.

The buildings are octagonal, and the windows are wider. But aside from that, I feel like I’ve seen the like in every city I’ve ever been in. The facades of metal and glass reflect the sunlight down on the wide roads below.

“He can’t complain about the roads though.” Carefully, I slide my foot along the even surface. “They’re awesome.”

Smokescreen laughs. “Those are kind of critical to us, so of course we build them well.” He smiles down at me. “You like it?”

“I do like it,” I agree. “But I have a feeling I would have liked it no matter what it looked like. Well, the parts that have been rebuilt, anyway.”

“We have to start somewhere.” Smokescreen looks at the building opposite us. “And these are solid, permanent, acid-proof roofs over our heads. No one has to stay outside. No one’s homeless. We’re well on our way to a functional society.” He looks at me again with a wink. “Now we just need all our mechs functional. That’s where you come in, isn’t it?”

“It is.” The reminder is enough to drag me out of my staring. I let go of his arm to take a step forward. “So I better figure this new frame of mine out. Which way to the park?”

Smokescreen nods to the right, and I start walking. It’s unsteady going, and Smokescreen eyes my legs curiously.

“Isobel… You’re actually planning how to move your frame, aren’t you? Consciously, I mean?”

I have to think that over. I haven’t been thinking too much about what I’m thinking when I try to move. Mainly I’ve been frustrated with how difficult it is. “Huh. I’m not sure.”

“Take a step, tell me what’s going through your mind.”

I raise my eyebrows at him – or, it feels like I’m raising my eyebrows at him, but I don’t have eyebrows. My visor does something, though.

Guess I’ll have to practice expressions in front of the mirror.

“Right. Taking a step.” I walk forward a few steps before I stop again, giggling. “Huh. You’re right. I’m going ‘this leg, now that one, this one, that one.’”

He laughs at me. “Yeah, I can tell. Stop that. Your frame works just like your body did, it’s not a prosthetic limb you need to learn to use.” He taps my forehead, then my chest. “The autonomy is in here. The natural movement is in there. Move. Don’t think.”

“Fair enough. I’ll try.”

“Do, or do not,” he says loftily. “There is no try.”

I giggle so hard I almost fall over. “Oh, mute it.”

He’s laughing at me, the scoundrel. I just know it.

Somehow, despite Smokescreen’s more and more ridiculous advice, I manage to get myself into the park and drop down on the nearest bench. I feel like I should be exhausted, but it’s all in my head.

I still lean back against the back of the bench gratefully. “I need to work on my mind. This is so tiring.”

“I may have an idea for that,” Smokescreen comments, sitting down next to me. “Okay if we try something different next time I come by?”

“If Ratchet lets you come back,” I reply dryly. “You haven’t fueled me yet.”

“Of course he’ll let me back. I’m a Mech with a Plan.” He hands me an energon cube. “Bottoms up, Cynosura.”

I make a face at the energon. I still haven’t gotten used to this.

“You’re thinking too much about that too,” Smokescreen comments. “It’s just fuel. Granted, it’s bland, and it’s definitely not what you’re used to, but you’re going to have to learn to like it.”

I grimace. I don’t like learning to like things. I never even learned to like coffee.

Still. I guess I have no choice this time around, not if I want to be a functional Cybertronian.

I do make a mental note to talk to someone about flavors, though. Maybe there’s something that doesn’t taste quite so… metallic and weird.

Smokescreen brings out a cube for himself, downing it easily. He nods towards the sky. “Better drink up, Cynosura. I think someone’s coming to see you.”

I follow his look. There’s a shape coming steadily closer.

I manage to down my energon in a hurry – to my relief, it doesn’t taste quite as bad that way – and get the cube out of the way. Then Laserbeak all but crashes into me, and suddenly I have an armful of affectionate cassette.

“Hey, baby girl,” I croon. I can’t resist pulling her as close to me as possible. She’s so _small_ all of a sudden.

_Accept incoming comm Y/N_

Y, of course.

::Isobel!::

I smile and nuzzle the very snuggly cassette. “Yeah, Laserbeak. It’s so good to see you!”

She giggles. ::You too! I was so scared for you.:: She sits up, looks at me expectantly. ::How do you feel?::

“Like I’m a human stuck inside a robot,” I reply truthfully, and Smokescreen snickers at me.

Laserbeak shoots him a stern look and slaps him with one wing. ::No laughing at the newbuild, gambler.::

“Peace, birdbot,” he chortles, raising his hands defensively. “I come in peace.”

“It’s true, anyway.” I shrug. “I don’t know how I work. I mean, I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure how I worked when I was human either, but at least I had the basic things like moving and eating and stuff down then. And thinking.”

She cants her head. It’s adorable. ::You have problems with your priority trees?::

I stare at her dumbly. “My what now?”

::Your priority trees,:: Laserbeak replies patiently. ::How you prioritize action and movement, how your frame decides what to proceed with at any given point in time.::

“Um.” I haven’t the foggiest idea what she’s talking about. “What do they look like?”

A small panel opens on the side of her neck, revealing a cable and plug not unlike the one Ratchet has been using to connect to me. ::Let me connect?::

It takes me a few tries, but I finally manage to dig out the command to open the matching panel on my arm. It’s the first time I’ve actually managed, and I just know that it shows on my metal face how ridiculously proud I suddenly am of myself.

It must be showing, because Smokescreen’s laughing at me again.

Worryingly enough, so is Laserbeak. She’s giggling at me over the comm line.

::Let me in?::

That surprises me. I thought I already had.

::I’m pinging you, silly. You need to lower your firewalls and let me in.::

“Um. How?”

They both just stare at me.

::Can you feel this?:: Laserbeak’s almost scarily focused on me.

I try to feel what’s going on inside my head. All it does is make my plating crawl. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel.”

Laserbeak sighs and disconnects. ::We need to work on your operating system. You need to be taught, not just left alone. As it is, you’re a danger to yourself. Can you even recognize the signals your own HUD is showing you?::

I know what my HUD is, at least. It’s the screen that keeps throwing messages at me. Or it did until Ratchet turned it off, anyway. “Right now, it’s not showing me anything.”

I get the distinct feeling that Laserbeak is frowning. ::That can’t be right. There should be a constant monitoring of your system on there. Temperature gauges, fuel levels, that lot. And you should be getting notifications of foreign connections and system handshakes. You really can’t see anything?::

I shrug. “Not much. I got to accept your comm. But right now…”

I wish I could draw it for her. But I left my datapad in my room, since Ratchet hasn’t shown me how to use my subspace yet. If I have one.

Guess Laserbeak’ll have to use her imagination.

“Here,” I say, drawing a square in the air over the bench. “I can see this frame, right? And in the corner of it there’s another box. That’s where all the prompts and information pops up. Right now I’m not being notified of anything.”

Laserbeak stares at me. ::We need to go talk to Ratchet.::

 

Ratchet, predictably, isn’t amused.

“Of course her systems are causing problems again,” he spits out as he sits me back down on my berth. “It would be too much to expect everything to operate flawlessly, wouldn’t it?”

The sarcasm is positively dripping.

At least I managed to open the panel over the port in my arm myself again. Ratchet gives me a satisfied nod.

::But her HUD seems to be offline completely,:: Laserbeak interjects. ::It should be functional, Ratchet.::

“Let me look. And then we’ll see what’s going on.”

I let Ratchet plug in without any fuss. His touch is familiar. So’s the faint crawling over my frame at what feels like a foreign touch on my mind.

It takes Ratchet a couple of minutes, and then he sighs. “You’re right, kid. Her HUD’s gone into some form of minimum operational mode. I tried to dial back the autonomy, but it seems to have overreacted somehow.” He drags a hand across his face and looks at me with this guilty look in his optics. “I’m sorry, sparklet.”

I can’t bear that. Not Ratchet looking like that. “Not your fault, Ratchet.”

::She needs to be taught,:: Laserbeak insists. ::Or she won’t be able to handle herself.::

“Of course she needs to be taught,” Ratchet snaps. “Do you have any idea how time-consuming that’s going to be, though? It’s taken me the better part of a week to get her to where she can open her own diagnostic port!”

I flinch. I know, intellectually, that he doesn’t mean that I’m slow, or a burden. I do know that.

It’s still uncomfortable to hear, though.

“Ratchet.” Smokescreen’s tone is scolding. “This isn’t Isobel’s fault.”

“I know it’s not! I know! Slag.” He sighs, rubs his optics. “I know. But it doesn’t change the fact that teaching you, sparklet, takes time. Time I don’t have, in between all the system flushes and coding updates and fragging Neutrals showing up who haven’t seen a medic since the war started and don’t trust any of us to do what’s right.”

I reach out for his free hand. “I’m sorry, Ratchet. I don’t mean to stress you. But Laserbeak’s right. I need to learn about myself if I’m going to be any good to anyone. If you don’t have the time to teach me, maybe there’s someone else who can? I mean, you probably don’t have to be a medic to show me what the temperature controls and such mean, right? I bet even Fireflight could show me.”

“It doesn’t have to be a medic, no,” he allows. “But everyone’s harried, Isobel, everyone’s busy.”

“Smokescreen found time to see me,” I point out. “Laserbeak did, too. And if enough mecha could take ten minutes or so every once in a while, I would be busy almost full-time.”

“It would help to get her out of here, too,” Smokescreen points out. “She needs to move, to feel like her frame is natural, to learn who she is now. She can’t do that in here.”

“No.” And now Ratchet is firm. “I’m not letting you go off on your own, Isobel. Not with your frame and systems acting up like that. You need to be monitored.”

“Then let me be monitored by an actual person,” I plead, suddenly desperate for this possibility that Smokescreen’s dangled in front of me. “Heck, I’ve been an Autobot parcel before. Just pass me between mecha that have time and room and inclination.”

“There aren’t many that can fit you in,” Ratchet says, but it seems like he may be on his way to surrendering. “Jazz and Prowl are both working long days integrating the government and handling the Neutrals. Anyone with a smidgeon of medical training is here, and we’re all working double shifts. Wheeljack and anyone else with training in engineering and construction are manufacturing parts and buildings and infrastructure, and Perceptor and the scientists are all working on our energon supply. None of us have time to take care of you full-time, sparklet.”

“I just need a berth,” I argue. “And there were plenty of bots you didn’t name. Hound. Mirage. Blurr. Bluestreak. Bumblebee. Blaster.”

Now it’s Laserbeak shaking her head. ::Blaster and the cassettes are working communication with Soundwave, reconnecting with the Neutrals and monitoring inbound ships. Blurr’s balancing his time between his new bar and working as a scout to the outlying regions. So’s Hound. Mirage and Bumblebee are both working with the Neutrals, along with some of the Decepticons.::

“And Bluestreak is busy with Skywarp,” Smokescreen puts in with a leer. “They’re… rehabilitating each other. And it’s going rather well, don’t you think, Ratchet?”

“I’m not touching that with a planet-wide pole,” Ratchet mutters.

There has to be someone. I’m not giving up. “Arcee, then. The Protectobots, or the Aerialbots. Trailbreaker. Sideswipe.”

“Sideswipe?” Ratchet scoffs. “He’s focused on keeping Sunstreaker stable.”

“Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, then. You know none of them would hurt me.”

“No.”

Suddenly I’m fed up. Now he’s just being contrary for the sake of it.

“Fuck it, Ratchet! Why are you being so difficult!? Would you rather have me stuck in here until I forget how to move at all?” I’m off the berth, pacing back and forth. I can’t sit still when I’m this annoyed. “If you don’t have time to help me, then bloody well pass me over to someone who do! Don’t keep me locked up here like a – like an invalid! Pit, I bet even Starscream has more freedom than me at this point, and based on what you’ve told me, he doesn’t even know where he is anymore!”

Ratchet is gaping at me. I’ve never taken him to task before.

Smokescreen is grinning, though. When he sees me staring at him, he looks pointedly down at my legs. My pacing, easily moving legs.

I promptly stumble.

“That’s what I mean,” Smokescreen says as he helps me back up. “She needs to move, Ratchet. Not be stuck to a berth in here.” He turns slightly so Ratchet can’t see his face and winks at me. “I can take care of her at least one of the days this week. I have a plan.”

::I’ll get a few of the other cassettes, and we’ll take a day too,:: Laserbeak offers. ::We can work with her HUD, if you just manage to get it to acknowledge incoming handshakes.::

“And I’m sure, between your two lovers and their brothers, there’ll be no shortage of people willing to watch you,” Smokescreen says. He lets go of my hands and nods appreciatively when I don’t sway in place.

Ratchet looks at me again. Then he sighs, heavily, like it’s coming all the way from the bottom of his spark. “Fine. Fine. You,” he points at me, “will wear a small monitor connected to your systems. I’ll put it under your plating so it won’t be in the way. It will alert myself and First Aid if something goes wrong. You will be with someone else at all times, even if that means you’re stuck on a chair in Prowl’s office while he’s working, and in those cases you will sit still and not make a fuss, okay?”

“I’m not a child, Ratchet.”

“Yes, you are. You might as well be.” He exhales heavily again and gestures to the berth. “You’re coming home with me, at least for tonight. My shift ends in an hour, and we have a lot to get through in that time. So up you get.”

I share a grin with Smokescreen.

“I’ll take my leave then,” he says, winking at me again and nodding at Laserbeak. “See you tomorrow, Cynosura.”

“Definitely. Thanks, Smokescreen.”

Laserbeak settles next to me on the berth as Smokescreen leaves. ::Ratchet, may I observe?::

“Sure.” Ratchet’s grumbling again, but I can tell he’s okay. “I’ll bring it up on an external monitor, so you can see what you’re working with. It’ll be useful for you if you’re going to be helping out in a few days.”

It strikes me, suddenly. How far the peace has come. How much trust has been built. I mean, this is _Ratchet_ , offering intimate access to my systems to one of _Soundwave’s_ cassettes.

It’s awesome.

I relax and try to make myself comfortable despite the prickling in my systems. I’ll be getting out of here tonight.

 

“Okay, sparklet, out you get.”

I climb out of Ratchet’s alt mode, and would have promptly fallen on my face if someone hadn’t caught me.

A big, strong, solid, really familiar someone.

“Easy, Isobel.” Optimus steadies me, smiling gently. He’s still taller than me by quite a lot, but it’s not uncomfortable.

It feels safe.

So of course, I don’t hesitate to throw my arms around his waist. Smokescreen would be proud of me for keeping my balance through it.

“Hi, Optimus.” I lean in against his chest, feel the sheer power and calm exuding from him. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, brightspark. I’ve missed you.”

“Get her inside,” Ratchet says from behind me. “I still have some adjustments to do in her systems before I can let her recharge tonight.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to bring our work home with us,” Optimus teases gently, but he loosens my grip on him and takes my hand to lead me inside.

Ratchet smirks back at him. “Oh, like you’re not guilty of the same thing. Besides, I think there should be an exemption from the rule when the work in question is an actual living Cybertronian/human hybrid.”

There’s something about the way they act together that’s tickling something in my mind. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, though.

And I quickly forget about it as Optimus leads me into their home.

With him being the Prime, I’d half expected a palace. Where Optimus would only grudgingly reside, of course, insisting on only using one wing of it and that the massive opulent furniture was too much for him. But instead it’s a townhouse, modest by any standard, in a row of similar houses. The décor inside is nothing more than could be expected from Optimus and Ratchet either – a few pieces of art on the walls, a large comfy-looking sofa, the standard clutter you’d get in a house that’s actively lived in.

It feels homely.

“Nice digs.” I grin up at Optimus. “Very you.”

“Thank you. It suits us well.”

“Get on the couch already, sparklet,” Ratchet demands, the irritable edge in his voice softened by the smile on his face. “I promise it’s just a few more subroutines that need tweaking. And then we can all refuel.”

“Good.” I open the access panel on my arm again. It takes hardly any thought now. “I don’t particularly enjoy the feeling of you crawling around in my cortex.”

He connects, and my plating crawls, and suddenly my HUD lights up with information.

A _lot_ of information.

_Fuel level: 37%_

_Temperature level: green_

_Fuel pump expediency: within parameters_

_Motor control: functional_

_Sensory suite: within parameters_

_Self-repair diagnostics: pending_

_Coolant level: optimal_

_Spark energy containment: optimal_

_Transformation cog: offline_

_Virus scan: negative_

_Subspace overview: list available_

_Self-repair diagnostics: report ready_

_Severe repair needed:_

_Frontal Cortex: Patch SCC1.3X not compatible_

_Frontal Cortex: Patch SCC1.3Z not compatible_

_Memory storage: component meltdown detected_

_Servo control: component meltdown detected_

_Moderate repair needed:_

_Communications suite error detected_

_Sensory suite: visual input error detected_

_Minor repair needed:_

_Equilibrium sensor, left, faulty_

_Equilibrium sensor, right, faulty_

_Wiring flaw detected:_

_Left ankle joint_

_Left knee joint_

_Left hip joint_

_Self-repair diagnostic report complete_

_That’s too much._ “Ratchet…!”

“Easy, sparklet,” he sooths. “Many of these are old notifications that show up now because I rebooted your HUD. You’re not melting down, I promise.”

“Melting down?” Optimus sounds concerned, and his solid warmth on my back is reassuring.

“Her processor needed some work after her spark integration,” Ratchet explains. “I repaired them the first day, but her diagnostics have been queueing up on her. They need to run their course, then those warnings will disappear.” He disconnects from me and leans back. “Now, I want to try something. Isobel, will you let Optimus connect to you? Like Laserbeak tried?”

“Sure.” I shrug. “I trust you.” I hold out my arm for Optimus to plug into.

“Now, you should see the handshake protocol initiating,” Ratchet explains. “Once you accept those, Optimus will be able to see what any non-medic can see of your systems.”

I accept the incoming request, happy to actually see it this time, and in the next moment, Optimus is in my mind. He’s a warm, solid, caring presence, but having him in there is almost overwhelming. I keep shaking my head to get rid of the intrusion.

Optimus disconnects – he probably feels my discomfort, but he’s nice enough to not say anything about it.

“Now, the ports will only really need to be used by a qualified medic or someone you choose to let into your system for whatever reason,” Ratchet says. He smirks at me. “I’m leaving most of that education up to First Aid and Groove. I bet they can show you a thing or two.”

Optimus chuckles. “They’re probably the best mechs for it, yes. Considering the… pleasurable… aspect of system connecting.”

He winks at Ratchet, and Ratchet blushes and grins back, and suddenly it hits me. I know where I’ve seen this kind of behavior before.

“Holy crap,” I blurt out. “You two bonded!”

“We did,” Optimus confirms, reaching out for Ratchet’s hands and pulling him around me into his lap. “Ratchet finally agreed when the war ended.”

“And you didn’t waste any time,” Ratchet accuses, but he’s still smiling, and he settles easily on Optimus’ lap.

“Why would I? I’d been waiting forever for you.” Optimus’ arms circle Ratchet’s waist, and he pulls him flush against his chest.

I giggle at them. They’re so ridiculously adorable. “Sure you want me to stay here tonight? I can call Smokescreen or someone?”

“Stay.” Optimus turns to look at me. “It feels right, having you here. You’re family, Isobel. It feels like you belong to us.”

I lean against his arm. “Thanks, Optimus. For what it’s worth, this place feels like home. And you’re the closest thing to family I have left.” I reach out and poke Ratchet’s stomach. “But if you two’re going to be sappy and affectionate with each other all night, I demand you teach me how to offline my audials before you go recharge.”

Ratchet laughs. It’s loud, and careless, and completely different from anything I ever heard from him on Earth. “Oh, don’t worry, sparklet,” he chortles. “I think we can keep our hands off each other for one night.”

“I don’t know, dearspark,” Optimus muses. “You’re pretty irresistible when you’re this happy.”

I have to rise to the occasion. I have to. So I turn on the couch – slowly, so I don’t fall over – and sit sideways, watching them attentively. “Well, if you insist. Get on with the demonstration, then. Fragging 101. But be warned.” I pull out my datapad with a flourish. “I will be taking notes.”

It’s very gratifying, how they both stare at me. Then Ratchet shakes his head wryly and stands up. “I’ll get us some fuel. Isobel, do you want to try some different flavors?”

“I’d love to. Some of it has to taste good.”

As soon as Ratchet is gone, Optimus puts his arms around me and pulls me close. “Wait until you try the energon jellies. The candies. Mirage can make the most delectable treats, and there’s a Neutral called Spinner who makes really good crystal candy.”

I lean in against him. “I’ll try anything. The plain energon I got at the hospital really wasn’t my thing.”

Optimus leans down towards me. “I have to agree,” he whispers conspiratorially.

I have to giggle at that. They’re such a _couple_ about everything.

“You really do feel like family,” Optimus murmurs. “It’s almost uncanny. Like you belong with us.”

“I know!” I twist around in his arms. “I feel like I’ve been here forever, like I just walked in my own front door. It’s weird. It wasn’t like this when I – when I was human.”

Ratchet comes back, hands me a cube. There’s some form of sprinkles in it. “This one is laced with carbon. It should taste a bit familiar to you.” He sits down on my other side, hands Optimus his cube. “And I’m not surprised you feel familiar. I can feel it, too. I think it has to do with how your spark was formed. Aside from First Aid, Optimus was probably one of the more critical and present contributors to your spark energy and memories.”

“The Matrix demanded it,” the Prime says softly.

“You’ll probably notice similar connections to Jazz and Prowl,” Ratchet continues. “They were down there a lot, too, and their sparks were strong enough to help build up yours.”

“Well, whatever the reason is, I like it,” I decide. “Makes me feel like I belong here.” I taste the energon cautiously. And then take a bigger gulp. “This, I can like. Carbon, you said?”

“Carbon,” Ratchet confirms. “I’ll make a list for you of other additives you might like, and send it to you. So you know where you should start.”

“Thanks.”

I drain the rest of my cube slowly, enjoying being nestled between them. It feels safe, comforting, and leaning against Optimus is almost second nature.

It’s also nice to know that he’s big enough to carry me if I need it. Because I’m totally dozing off in the couch.

And since it’s safe here, and warm, and there’s a steady, strong pulse in Optimus’ chest calling to me, I just relax and let myself fall asleep.


	3. Rediscovering rhythm

_Dear diary,_

_I’m still staying with Ratchet and Optimus, for all of Ratchet’s plans of shifting me around like a parcel. It feels like home here. Plus, Ratchet says that Optimus really enjoys having me here, and he’s willing to do anything to make Optimus happy, the sap._

_Anyway, it’s not like I have another place to go right now. The Protectobots are still in shared quarters, in a hangar next to the Aerialbots, and there’s no room there for me right now. No privacy either, and much as I love Hot Spot and the others, I don’t really fancy spending my time in a bunk in a shared room with five mechs._

_Groove says he’s working on something, though. Says he has a plan that’ll let me “move out of my folks’ place”._

_Yeah. He said that._

_Both Groove and First Aid visit as often as they can. Groove comes by whenever his schedule lets him, which isn’t very often, but he’s promised that when he gets his plans finalized we’ll all be living together. So there’s that. And First Aid works nights right now, since Ratchet’s on days, which gives him the evenings free to spend with me. Since he’s a medic, Ratchet’s willing to let him take care of me for a few hours._

_Ratchet’s very bossy._

_I still have issues with my balance and my systems and – well, everything, really. At least I can read my own HUD now. Laserbeak was here the day after I got to leave hospital, along with Ratbat, Eject and Ravage, and between them they managed to get me up to speed on what the hell everything means._

_The smug look on Ravage’s face when he managed to finally get me to understand my own self-diagnostic system after Eject had tried to make me get it for the last half hour was priceless. Laserbeak helped me save an image capture._

_My new body comes with an integrated camera. I sense great potential for fun._

_I’ve got to wrap this up. Smokescreen is coming by, he says he’s found a way for me to work on my body control. I don’t know if I should be excited or worried. So I’m going for a bit of both._

 

It’s not just Smokescreen, though, when I open the door.

“Hey, girl.” Blaster grins at me. “Good to see you lookin’ good.”

I squeal. Loudly. “Blaster! I haven’t seen you since I had a pulse!”

“Well, I came to see if you still had a beat!” He winks at me. “Let’s get you out of this house, huh?

I manage to shout a goodbye at Optimus before they drag me off. Good thing Ratchet is in recharge, or leaving would take an age. My surrogate parent is not above threatening grievous bodily harm if anything were to befall me, and he’s got this long list of things to look out for in me that he tends to recite to anyone ‘taking responsibility’ for me. It basically adds up to ‘if she starts to act weird, get her to the hospital stat and call me’, so I figure most of them already can figure that out by themselves.

That doesn’t stop Ratchet, though. He doesn’t have a great deal of faith in the common sense of most mecha, he says. Not after such a long war. I guess he does have reason to be a little skeptic. Hopefully he’ll calm down when I’ve been functioning for a while.

I’m still not supposed to transform, so Smokescreen takes my arm as we walk. It’s not a fast mode of travel, but neither of them complain.

Though I guess we’re good, since Blaster’s alt mode is completely stationary. He’s probably used to walking.

“Where are we going anyway?”

“There’s a park around the corner,” Smokescreen replies. “With a courtyard.”

“Okay.” I look up at him. It’s slightly comforting to still be shorter than almost all of them. “And we need a courtyard because?”

“You’ll see.” Blaster chuckles.

God. These mechs can be so aggravating when they want to.

Luckily, it really isn’t far. And when we enter the park, there’s another surprise waiting for me, lounging up against a garden wall like he belongs there.

“Jazz!”

“Hiya, sweetspark.”

His grin’s still the same. His _everything_ ’s still the same – I can see the temperature gauge on my HUD climbing slightly.

Slagging sex-turned-solid mech.

Still, I hug him. Because he’s _Jazz_ , and Ratchet was right about there being a connection between me and him. He feels so familiar now, I half expect one of those pings I didn’t understand about unknown familial ties to crop up again.

“It is so good t’ see ya, Isobel,” he croons. “Ya have no idea how much we missed ya.”

Oh, I think I do. Only in my case it was just for a decade, not a whole century. So I hold on a little longer before letting go.

“It’s so good to see you too! How’ve you been? How’s Prowl?”

“Workin’, as always,” he laughs as he pulls back a bit. He keeps a hand on my shoulder. “He’s tryin’ t’ secure a functionin’ government, which is just as hard as it sounds. But he told me t’ say hi, and that we really want t’ see more of ya.”

“I’d love to visit at some point,” I agree. Prowl has been a steadying force for me ever since I first discovered the Autobots existed. “I’ll talk to Ratchet, see what he’ll allow, okay? You have my comm link?”

He grins. “I do now.”

“I hate to interrupt the reunion,” Smokescreen says, doing just that, “but we’re on a little bit of a set time frame here.”

“You ready, Isobel?” Blaster asks from behind me.

I shrug as I turn around, my shoulder blades dipping. “I don’t even know what the heck I’m supposed to be ready _for_.”

“For this.” Blaster grins easily as he transforms, long limbs and heavy armor twisting and shrinking until there’s just a small boombox on the low wall.

I know I’m staring. But Blaster’s a big bot. And that’s a seriously small music player. Almost human-sized.

“…huh. I’m not a physicist, but that doesn’t look like it should be physically possible.”

“Impressive, right? Blaster has really fancy mass displacement capabilities. Get Wheeljack to explain it to you at some point.” Smokescreen settles against the wall with an easy smile and a pat on Blaster’s alt mode. “Hit it, mech.”

Then there’s music. And _oh_ , I know that music.

It must show on my face, because Jazz chuckles at me. “Between me an’ Blaster, we’ve got every piece of music Earth had t’ offer last time we were there. Comes in handy now.”

“Now? How so?” I can’t imagine Earth music is that great a hit on Cybertron.

“Because then I get t’ dance with ya again.” Jazz reaches out and takes my hand.

“Oh no you don’t,” I say sternly, pulling my hand back. “I could barely keep on my feet with you when I was human. I’m not risking it now, when there’s always some part of my body that’s not listening to me.”

“Like I’d take chances with ya,” Jazz scoffs. “Ratchet would have my plating for spares. Take it easy, Cynosura. This,” he takes my hand again, “is just dancing. Isobel-style.”

And so we dance.

It takes me a few minutes to warm up to the idea of dancing as a Cybertronian, in public, where anyone can walk by and see. But hearing the music again is just too much fun, and Jazz’s energy truly is infectious, and Blaster must have chosen the songs on purpose, because I can’t stand still for long.

Fun’s _Some nights_ gives way to Lady Gaga gives way to Gaelic Storm gives way to Flogging Molly gives way to Justin Timberlake gives way to Alan Walker. And then the first chords of _Despacito_ ring out.

“Blaster, you utter slagger.”

He just laughs at me, sounding thoroughly unrepentant. “You had some moves on Earth, girl. Figured we’d see if you could recreate them.”

“I wanted t’ try this too,” Jazz confesses, his hips closing on mine and his voice sultry. “It looked way hot when ya danced with th’ twins. An’ Prowler doesn’t do steamy-hot dancin’. So will ya do me th’ favor?”

Well, damn. Who can argue against Jazz’s hips, anyway? I’ve certainly never stood a chance.

Like before, the music moves through my frame and grounds itself in my legs, triggering my hips to move. So I let them.

I’m more flexible than I had thought. One of Jazz’s hands is on my waist, chaste touch guiding me, his hips flush against mine. His other hand on my cheek, cradling my jaw. My back curves as Jazz dips me, and something shifts in my shoulders to let me lean even further back. For all that it feels intimate, it’s much more proper than the routine I did with the twins. And thank goodness for that, because my HUD helpfully informs me we have an audience.

When Jazz’s hand trails from my cheek down across my shoulder and torso and over my hips to my leg, sliding down to the back of my knee and hiking my leg up, I dip back far enough to be practically upside down. I have such a sense of déjà vu, I half expect First Aid’s holoform to stand there with an inscrutable expression on his face. Instead, there’s a very familiar pink bot, canting her head and grinning at me, and an unfamiliar red and orange mech with a flame pattern on his torso.

I squeal, loudly, and bat at Jazz’s hands to get him to let me go. He’s nice enough to get me upright first, spinning me towards the new arrivals.

“Arcee!” As soon as Jazz lets me go I’m off, throwing myself at her. She’s slightly taller than me still and definitely has better balance, so instead of me knocking both of us to the ground she just spins with the movement.

“Hey, Cynosura! Wow, you look amazing!”

I hug her as best I can, taking care not to thwack any part of anyone with my shoulder blades. “It’s so good to see you! How have you been?”

“Oh, you know, turning heads and rebuilding society.” She grins at me. “Cynosura, meet Hot Rod. He was part of Ultra Magnus’ posse. Roddy, this is Cynosura, the one I was talking about.”

I smile and hold out my hand. “Hi, Hot Rod. Nice to meet you.”

He doesn’t shake my hand. Instead, he clasps my forearm. I hurry to do the same. “Hey, Cynns! You looked great out there!”

Cynns?

He releases my arm. His grin is wide and infectious. “Arcee tells me you’re an Earthling originally – guess it’s a big transition for you, huh? So, what’s up with the dancing, anyway? Are you practicing for the club scene or something? Because I’ve got to tell ya, despite what Blaster and Jazz and Blurr and that one neutral whose designation I can’t remember is trying to do, we don’t have much of a club scene yet.”

_Cynns?_

“Though if we did, with moves like that, you’d be really popular really fast.” He winks. “I liked the music, too. Earth music, right?”

Cynns. _Cynns_.

Fuck.

“It was Smokescreen’s idea, actually,” I explain, trying desperately to find my footing. It’s going to take me a while to get past this one. “I still have issues controlling my frame, and he thought dancing would help.”

“It did help,” Smokescreen calls from behind me. “You should see yourself, girl. You need to do this more often.”

“Is that an offer?” I call back. “Because I have two guys who’re likely to get jealous if you keep sneaking me off to dance!”

Jazz’s chuckle is almost drowned out by the sound of Blaster’s transformation sequence. “We actually have a plan for that,” Blaster says. “I’ll show you over a cube, you must be low by now.”

I can’t really argue with that. My fuel levels have been dropping steadily. Dancing’s exhausting.

“Hang out with us for a bit?” I look at Arcee and Hot Rod. “I really want to catch up. And get to know you better,” I add for Hot Rod’s benefit.

I’d really like to find out why he called me Cynns. And preferably get him to stop.

“Sure,” she agrees easily. “That’s why we came, anyway. Someone owes me a lunch date.” She winks at Blaster, and I don’t miss Hot Rod’s tiny frown.

Well, that could be interesting. I’d better get Arcee to come over for a gossip night soon. It wouldn’t hurt any to find out how the Cybertronians are doing socially, either – Optimus and Ratchet are decent enough at explaining the technical and sociopolitical matters, but they’re not the most observant of mecha. Arcee should be able to give me a heads-up on most of it, so I’ll know what to prepare myself for when I finally get to take up my practice again.

I sit down on the bench and accept the cube Smokescreen hands me. He’s sprinkled something in it, I can see the small flakes.

“Nickel,” he explains at my curious look. “Gives it a bit of a sharper, more zingy tang. I think you’ll like it.”

I sip at the liquid carefully. It’s not half bad.

“How do you like life as a Cybertronian so far?” Arcee looks at me as she accepts her own cube from Blaster. “I know you weren’t prepared to wake up to this.”

“Honestly, I like it. I just need to get used to the energon. And being – well, Cynosura.” I turn to Blaster. “Speaking of. I never thanked you for the look.”

“Not much to thank me for,” he replies with a smile. His smile is just like his holoform’s. “Rewind had images of the design, and we figured it was easier to use that than make a new one. You looked happy in the video.”

“You look really good,” Hot Rod pipes in. “Never seen that frametype before.”

“Nobody has,” Jazz replies. “She’s unique.” He leans in and kisses my forehead. “I’ve got t’ go, sweetspark. But first, we wanted t’ give ya somethin’.”

I put my cube down on the bench. “Ooh! A present?”

“Of sorts.” Blaster pulls out two tiny metal chits from subspace. “These are for you.”

Jazz reaches for one of them and holds it up, showing it to me. “This is a data chip. See th’ green stripe? That’s an indicator of capacity. This one’s small.”

“Okay,” I nod. It’s kind of like an USB drive or something. “So what’s on it?”

“That’s the real surprise.” Blaster smiles at me. “That one’s your playlist. It has a few thousand Earth songs on it. You can copy them to your own internal memory, so you always have them with you.”

I grin so widely it feels like my face is splitting in half. “That is so awesome! Show me?”

Jazz takes my hand, teasing open a cover I hadn’t noticed before. It reveals a slim slot that seems made for this kind of chit. “Ya install it in here, and accept th’ transfer.” He gives me a sharp look. “Now, ya never want t’ be installin’ directly from a chit unless ya absolutely trust the source. It’s way too easy t’ pick up a stray virus or corrupted file or somethin’ this way unless ya’s careful.”

Arcee chuckles. “Careful Jazz, your spec ops is showing.”

“Meant it to.” It’s hard to tell with that visor of his, but I get the feeling he’s frowning at her. “War may be over, but it ain’t all sunshine and roses yet.”

I slide the chit into the slot in my arm. “Got it. Better safe than sorry.” The alert pops up on my HUD, and I watch as the files transfer to a new file in my memory drives.

I’m a computer. It’s ridiculous, really.

“Now, once they’re in there, you can play them any time,” Smokescreen explains. “And that was the point of this, actually. It’s your movement soundtrack.”

I stare at him. “My what now?”

He smirks at me. “Choose a file to play.”

The first file I manage to access is the Beatles’ _Dear Prudence_. It feels appropriate, somehow. But when I choose play, the music is audible to everyone, not just me.

“What the frag? Where’s that coming from?” I stare down at myself, but I can’t figure it out.

Arcee giggles. “Stand up, Isobel. Look at your waist.”

I look down as much as I can. I’m not that flexible, but at least I don’t have the same issues Prowl and Jazz have with seeing their own fronts.

At first I don’t know what she’s referring to, but then I see it.

I have fricking speakers on my stomach.

Oh, they don’t look like Earth speakers. They’re slats, sort of, thin narrow gaps in the metal. But that’s clearly where the music’s coming from.

I laugh. “That is way cool. I’m my own music system.”

Blaster laughs at me. “Welcome to the club.”

Integrated camera, internal memory banks, integrated speakers… I wonder what’s next?

Well, there’s the other chip in Blaster’s hand, for one. I forgot about that for a moment. “So what’s on the other one?”

“This,” Blaster says, grinning widely as he holds up the other chip, “is everything else.”

I just stare at him. I feel like my eyebrows should be climbing if I had any. “Everything else?”

“Yep.” He pops the p. “Everything else. From Abba to Ziggy Stardust, from Albinoni to Zimmer, from ancient lute music to MTV music awards. The lot.”

I still don’t understand. It apparently shows, too, because Jazz takes mercy on me.

“It’s pretty much every piece of music we could download on Earth,” he explains. “We could get everythin’, so we downloaded everythin’. An’ saved it. An’ now ya’s getting’ a copy.”

Everything.

I stare at the tiny, flimsy piece of metal. “This holds every piece of music the internet had to offer?”

“Yep. More music than could be listened to in a human lifetime, even if all the humans on Earth right now were listening.” Blaster hands me the chip. “Don’t plug this into yourself. You don’t have near sufficient memory enough to hold it all. If there are any particular songs you want to transfer, put them on a datapad first.”

I take the tiny, giant musical catalog with something approaching pure reverence. “This is amazing.”

It really is. It’s a piece of home, one of the most important pieces, and I can’t believe it’s all there.

It’s all there.

“Kind of a lot to take in, huh?” Arcee says sympathetically. “You haven’t lost your culture, Isobel. At least not this part.”

Smokescreen leans forward to look at me. “Is this a bad time to say we’ve done the same thing for popular culture?”

“What?” I know I sound dumb. I feel dumb, right now. My brain isn’t computing properly.

“Every TV series. Every movie. Every book and comic available online.” He smiles. “Everything you’ve known and loved, Isobel, safe and sound in Soundwave’s databanks.”

I burst into tears.

I don’t mean to. I’d even forgotten that I could. But this is too much. I can’t process it.

I thought I’d lost everything. But somehow, I’m getting it all back.

Strong arms pull me close to a warm chest. I catch glimpses of bright red and orange plating.

“Shh, Cynns,” Hot Rod murmurs. “I know you’re overwhelmed. But it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Get her home,” Arcee says. I can practically hear the frown. “She needs a break. I know you mean well, but this was too much at once.”

Jazz kisses my head again. “I’m sorry, sweetspark. I do need to go. I’ll check up on ya later.”

Hot Rod pulls me to my feet. His hands cradle my jaw, tilting it so he can look at my face. “Are you going to be okay walking? Or do we need to get a transport here?”

I shake my head and rub the tears away. “No. I can walk.” I’m mostly embarrassed, now. “Sorry you had to see that.”

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Not the first tears I see, probably not the last.”

“You okay, Isobel?” Smokescreen at least has the grace to look a bit embarrassed too. “We didn’t mean to spring it all on you like that.”

“I’m okay.” I hook one arm aroung Hot Rod’s and the other around Arcee’s. “And you are all hereby invited to come back home with me and listen to the prettiest music known to mankind.”

I’m still unsteady, despite the dancing session. But I can manage, as long as I have someone to hold on to.

_I can’t believe how much I’ve missed some of this music. The pearl fishers duet and the flowers duet. Debussy and Dowland. Beatles and David Bowie and Bob Marley and Frank Sinatra._

_I’m floating on a cloud right now._

_Of course, that could also be because I’m exhausted._

_I played DJ for the others for hours. It was fun to see who liked which songs. Blaster knew most of it, of course, though I managed to surprise him with the Poldark soundtrack. And Arcee, classy girl that she is, liked everything. Ratchet, once he stopped being grumpy about us waking him up, objected to a lot of what I put on, but he never left the room so I figure he was just grouching to be ornery. He’s like that sometimes._

_Hot Rod was the most fun, since he hasn’t been to Earth at all. He was dancing around by the third track. And now he wants to learn how to play the saxophone. Guess that’s what I get for trying to prove that jazz is a musical genre and not just an Autobot._

_I detect many future projects for Wheeljack and the other engineers if there are more bots wanting to play human instruments. Maybe I should introduce them to the xylophone or something - I think that can be made using metal._

_Arcee and Hot Rod stuck around until Optimus was back, and then they had to stay for fueling. Poor Hot Rod was so overwhelmed by being in the Prime’s company that he was completely tongue-tied and barely got a word out. Looks like there’s a serious case of hero worshiping there._

_He kept calling me Cynns, though. Arcee said I might as well give up on that point._

_I did ask him why he hugged me. I’m not that used to being hugged by strangers. He said that he was mainly the closest one, but after a bit of prodding he admitted that the others kind of froze and he didn’t. He claimed it was probably because they’ve been trapped on Earth while he’s been traveling with Ultra Magnus to other Cybertronian colonies and alien planets. He has more experience handling ‘weepy Neutrals’._

_That made me think of myself differently._

_I guess I am a Neutral. I’m certainly not going to take a brand – or if I am, I’ll dig up something that indicates my profession, not a faction. I’m officially factionless._

_Maybe if this peace lasts everyone will be._

Recharge is not like falling asleep.

Falling asleep used to be lying down, maybe reading a bit until my eyes were tired, getting really warm and heavy and then suddenly nodding off. Initiating recharge is…

Well, for one, it has to be initiated. I actually have to activate a response in my frame that shuts down the alert systems one by one until I’m under. It’s more like shutting down a computer system than anything else.

I’m not comfortable with it.

I’m still trying my best to do the damn initiating when my door slides open and a familiar profile enters. And now I’m glad I’m not in recharge, because First Aid hasn’t spent the night with me since I woke up in this frame, and I’ve really, really missed it.

So nobody can blame me, really, if I reach for him before he’s even fully entered the room.

“Hello, love.” The chuckle is light and quiet. “Thought you’d be in recharge by now.”

“I hate recharge,” I grumble. “I just want to fall asleep.”

“You’re cute when you pout, did you know that?”

I lean into the hand on my cheek. “Well, you’re biased. You probably think I’m cute no matter what.” I turn my head enough to kiss his palm. “Did you come to stay?”

“Yeah. We’ve knocked the schedules around a bit – there’s a new Neutral medic working at the hospital now, so we can ease up a little.” His mask clicks away, and he kisses my cheek. “Gives me more time to spend with you.”

“I’m glad. I missed you.”

First Aid’s a bit taller and a lot heavier than me, so there’s no way I’d manage to pull him into the berth if he wasn’t going willingly. Which of course he does.

It’s so nice and comforting, cuddling into that big frame. But it also highlights how alien everything about this situation really is.

I should be sleeping curled up on his chest. Cradled into the small hollow on his back. Not fitting in his arms like I belong there.

It all feels off. On top of everything that’s been going on today, it’s a bit too much to take.

“…hey, First Aid?”

“Yeah?” He kisses my forehead.

“Is there any part of me that’s human?”

He sits up slightly at that, frowning down at me. “How do you mean? You’re not technorganic, love.”

I shake my head. “Not what I meant. I mean…” I sigh, try to gather my thoughts. It’s not easy to put these feelings into words. “I feel like a robot. Like a computer. So much of what I’m doing now revolves around code, and commands, and memory files, and priority trees, and… I don’t know. Is there any part of me left that’s human? Where’s the part that’s _me_?”

“Oh, Isobel.” His optics are warm, caring, and I don’t resist when he pulls me into a sitting position as well. “I’m sorry you feel like that. And I know it has to be disorienting. But I promise, love, aside from residing in a metal body now instead of an organic one, you’re every bit as human as you were.” His hands take mine, caressing my wrists. “What made you you wasn’t your body, though that was part of how you defined yourself. What made you you is still in there.”

“Where?” I whisper. “I can’t tell anymore.”

He raises a hand and rests it on my chest. “In here.” He cants his head, scrutinizing me. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but it looks like he finds it. “I want to try something. A few somethings, really. Will you let me link up? We’ll use the medical port. I need to show you how to do this.”

I nod. “Sure. You know I trust you.”

He smiles, and it’s _my_ smile, the one I fell for on a holoform’s face in what feels like another lifetime. It’s hauntingly familiar and painful to watch.

For some reason, everything’s hard to deal with tonight. Maybe I’m getting overwhelmed.

I hope whatever First Aid’s got planned will help.

I raise my arm, sliding open the cover over the medical port. First Aid connects with a low click, and I feel his presence in my mind.

It’s soothing and weird at once. Which is basically the story of my life these days.

First Aid uses his medic’s privileges to override whatever he needs to override to get into my system. And then his voice is in my head.

-I’m going to show you something, love. It’s a command you’re not going to be using that often, and probably most often with close loved ones like me and possibly Groove, but it’s necessary to know. Follow my touch.-

Follow his touch, he says. Like it’s that intuitive.

Though, surprisingly enough, it is.

First Aid’s touch is like a bright blue line, glowing like neon piping, tracing through my systems. I watch his path, paying attention to his twists and turns, until he pauses at a layer of code I haven’t seen before.

-See this line here? Activate it.-

Activate it? How?

-Just highlight it, love. And when prompted, you’ll know what to do.-

Huh. It’s almost like he can hear me.

-I can hear you, love. You’re talking back in your mind.-

Huh. Cool.

-It is. Now highlight the code.-

I do as he says, and a line of text promptly appears on my HUD.

_Open chest plates Y/N_

I pick Y, figuring that’s what First Aid wants. The feeling of approval over our connection indicates I was right.

_Open spark crystal Y/N_

I… don’t know?

-Choose yes, love. It’s not necessary, but it’ll let you see better.-

O—kay.

_Notice: spark exposed_

Holy saint on a sawhorse.

My spark’s exposed.

My _spark’_ s exposed.

I have a _spark_.

Which, logically, I knew. But still. _Still_.

-There you go, love. Look down.-

I do, because of course I have to. I have to see this.

There’s a green light cascading out of my chest, illuminating the space between First Aid and me, the soft green glow highlighting the edges and curves of our frames.

I raise my hand in front of my chest wonderingly. “It’s… It’s green.”

“Yes,” First Aid answers. His voice is soft, too. Maybe it’s that sort of occasion. “The only Cybertronian to have a green spark.”

I look down as much as I can. I’m not flexible enough to look into my own chest cavity though.

First Aid, bless him, has a small mirror.

In my chest, there’s a pulsing emerald orb. It spins slowly, stray waves and fluctuations in the glow, random strobes of green light glancing off the back and sides of the clear spark crystal.

It doesn’t look like me. But I know without a doubt that that’s the core of me, even so.

“Why’s it green?”

“We don’t know.” First Aid angles the mirror, shows me the light reflecting off of the edges of the open spark crystal. “Skyfire theorizes that it’s a reflection of your origin. Though sapphire would perhaps have been a more expected outcome.”

“Sapphire would have been logical,” I agree. “But I really like that it’s green. It’s… woods. And grass. And all those organic things you don’t have here.”

“Exactly. Now, find the commands for closing your spark chamber again. There’s something else I want to show you.”

It takes me a bit of fumbling, but I manage to close the crystal and plating without further prompting. First Aid doesn’t disconnect – instead, he pulls me to my feet and moves away from the bed.

“Now, this only works because you have such a big room here, okay? Be mindful about doing what I’m about to show you in small spaces.”

I giggle, and yes, there’s a slight edge of nervousness. “That’s reassuring.”

He smiles that gentle smile again. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

I know he does. He always does.

“Follow my touch.”

This time it’s easier. I know what to expect and how to do it. The code is even starting to make a bit of sense – if we did this enough, I bet I could figure myself out.

When he stops, I highlight the code he shows me.

_Initiate transformation sequence Y/N_

“Holy crap, First Aid.”

“I know. You can do it. There’s room. And I’m right here, still connected to you, and can guide you if you need it.”

I take a deep, steadying breath. “Well. Here goes nothing.”

_Y_

My limbs curl, twisting in ways they really shouldn’t be able to, and my back splits apart. My optics offline, and my head folds down, my legs tuck in under me, and suddenly I’m tipping forward –

\- somehow not falling on my face, though it feels like I should be.

I bounce slightly as I land, wobble from side to side a bit before settling.

For a moment, I just take everything in. Because it’s so different.

I thought waking up as a bot would be the biggest change I’d ever go through. But no. This, this is the biggest change I’ll ever go through.

I’m a frickin’ motorcycle.

And somehow, I can tell that I am. I can’t see, not really, but I can sense my surroundings, picking them up as angles and vectors and open spaces and obstacles. First Aid is a large mass next to me, and although I can tell where he is and isn’t I can’t really see his details.

It’s really, really, really, really weird.

“You can comm me if you want, love. I’m not sure your vocalizer’s set up to work in alt mode.”

It takes me a moment to find the right command, but I manage. ::Take a picture of me?::

He laughs lightly. “You’ve got it. You’re gorgeous, love.”

He circles me, taking pictures from every angle, before taking my handlebars – and boy, did I never think that was a sentence I’d ever need – and moving me gently towards the wall.

“Now, there’s one more thing I really want to show you while you’re in alt mode, love. And it’s going to be tricky to get at first, and might be a bit of a shock, but I think you’ll like it.”

I bounce a bit on my wheels. Hello, I’m an excited motorcycle! ::What’s that?::

He kneels next to me, one hand against my frame in a steadying touch. “You have a holomatter generator. It’s pre-programmed, too.”

I have a… what?

::I have a _holoform?_ ::

“You do. Follow my touch, and I’ll show you.”

I don’t know how First Aid’s managed to stay connected throughout my transformation, but he did. By rights he should have gotten tangled up in all those moving pieces. Maybe it’s a special medic power.

Again, his touch is easy to follow, but the code he leads me to is huge. I don’t even know where it begins.

-Here, I’ll help. We’ll create a short command for this, so you can use that. Just watch me and see what I do.-

That I can do.

First Aid highlights the code, so much of it, and it branches out in several directions. Some of it, I get the impression is tied to my memory, some to my frame controls, and some are just branching off into the unknown. First Aid somehow knows exactly what he’s doing, pulling all those strings in the same direction, creating a shortcut I can use. It’s much shorter, easier to read and find. I think I’ll manage to find my way back.

-Now. Highlight this.-

_Activate pre-created holoform Y/N_

I choose _Y_.

_Transfer full frame control to pre-created holoform Y/N_

_Y_ again.

Suddenly, I’m bipedal. I’m standing up, First Aid’s form towering over me. I’m soft, organic.

I’m human.

More than that, I’m _me_.

First Aid bends down with the mirror again. It’s full-size to me.

In the mirror, there’s a blonde woman, hair in a pony-tail. She looks younger than I remember – more early thirties than early forties.

I’m how they remember me.

Heh. Even the tears. Though I didn’t mean to cry.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” I manage. Even my voice is the same. “Oh, Aid, I love it. I’m still me. I’m still here.” The laugh that escapes is half a sob, but now I’m smiling and I couldn’t stop if someone paid me to.

“You always were. Just in a bigger shell, that’s all.” He smiles down at me. “Now, you’re going to have to focus to maintain it as I disconnect, okay?”

I nod. I’m me, I’m a holoform human, and I’m going to damn near stay this way until I find out what First Aid is planning.

I watch him disconnect from a flashy white and green motorcycle. It’s sleek, and fancy, and fast-looking, and, yeah, hot.

Really hot.

“Wow, Aid, did you build your dream bot or something?”

He flashes me a grin. “Something like that.”

His transformation sequence is familiar. I’ve seen it so many times before from this angle. Though I’ve never seen him actually transform in a room that’s barely big enough for him to fit in.

And then his holoform appears.

The same smile. The same hair. The same visor-like sunglasses, even.

Those long eyelashes. Shadowing his cheek when he looks down. Just like they did when he left me ten years ago.

Ten years and a century ago.

He opens his arms just in time for me to fall into them.

His hug is familiar, too. He smells the same. He even feels the same.

He _feels the same_ to me. I can’t tell the difference from touching him as a human and touching him now.

Very, very, very good holomatter technology.

“See?” he says softly. “You haven’t lost anything. Only now, you have two forms to play with.”

I have to chuckle at that. “Two forms, huh? Are you encouraging me to spend more time as a holoform?”

“From a medical point of view, you shouldn’t transform unsupervised yet, and I’d love for you to be comfortable in your frame too. From a personal standpoint…” He smiles at me, tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Well, I have to admit that I’ve missed this form too. Probably not as much as you, but I’ve missed it.”

“I’m glad I still have it, then.”

And then I kiss him.

It’s sweet and familiar and perfect and I can’t believe how much I’ve missed this. It’s insane. I mean, he’s right here. Since I woke up, I’ve seen him every day.

But this… I hadn’t realized how much I feared that I’d lost this.

First Aid’s lips are soft and pliant against mine, giving more than he’s asking for, and it’s so easy to just melt against him and stay there. When I finally pull away, I simply rest my head on his shoulder instead.

“I’ve missed you so much.” It’s barely even a whisper, but I know he heard it.

He kisses my throat. “Love you, Isobel. Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

“I can sleep like this?”

“You can. Give me a moment to transform and give you a lift up, okay?”

I wait for those careful metal hands to scoop me up and deposit me oh so gently on the berth surface. My berth is much, much harder in this form than in my frame form, and the metalmesh blanket I’ve been using is like multi-layered wire fencing. I can bend it, but it won’t warm me much. And Cybertron is cool at night.

Thankfully, First Aid comes to my rescue, as he always does. He pulls something thick and white from subspace and spreads it carefully on the bed.

It’s a massive down comforter. An actual, Earth-created down comforter.

“Oh, First Aid, I could kiss you.”

He chuckles. “Not going to lie, I’m kind of hoping for that. Let’s make sure you’ll stay warm first, though. It won’t hurt the holoform to freeze – at worst, you won’t be able to maintain it, and it’ll dissipate – but I want you to be comfortable for this. So get on that, love, and I’ll spread the second one over you.”

I crawl onto the soft surface. It’s utter heaven. And when the second one lands on me, covering me nearly completely from top to toe…

Sheer, utter, magnificent perfection.

Just missing one thing, really. “Come here, Aid.”

He transforms again, and the holoform manifests directly in my arms. I laugh and rest my forehead against his. “Showoff.”

“Glad you still think I’m impressive.” He smiles and pulls me closer, shifting the comforter around us. “Now sleep, Isobel.”

For the first time since I woke up as a Cybertronian, I close my eyes and just drift off.


	4. Reconnected

“Fuel gauge.”

_Flick_

The highlight moves to a different symbol on my HUD. I know that one too, and smile at my teacher as I give the right reply.

“Self-repair status.”

_flick_

“Temperature gauge.”

_flick_

“Coolant level.”

_flick_

“Damage status.”

It’s the last one. I got them all right. Ratchet feels pleased – I get a definite vibe of a proud teacher coming through the connection.

-Good. Now, show me your commands.-

I dive into my own code, highlighting and naming the ones I know. “Comm access. Transformation. Flare plating. Holoform activation. Medical port access – right arm, left arm, neck, chest, right leg, left leg. Part chest plates. Open spark chamber. Open dorsal ports. Open abdominal ports. Visor control.”

I can feel Ratchet’s focus on everything I name, tracing my path through the code.

“Music player. Memory access. Camera. External audio recorder. Schedule. Notepad.”

-Very good, sparklet. Now, your firewalls.-

Ratchet ‘watches’ through the link as I lower each of my firewalls in turn, raise them all again, and then lower the firewalls that are required to come down for medical access, data sharing and finally complete sharing.

-Good.- He disconnects from me, and I look up to see a faint smile on his face. “Now, your transformation sequence.”

I step away from the bench to stand at the middle of the floor. My alt mode’s small, but I still require a little space to actually transform. Once I’m on my wheels, I roll in a slow circle around Ratchet, turn and roll the other way and then transform back.

“Good.” His smile grows. He picks up a datapad and makes a very exaggerated check on one of the last boxes on the list. “Very good, sparklet. Now, please tell me the conditions for your clean bill of health.”

“I download the traffic regulations and learn them,” I rattle off. “I take mandatory driving lessons on a closed track with Streetwise, Arcee and Groove, and any time I need to drive in public I need Streetwise to accompany me. These supervised drives will continue until Streetwise decides that I’m competent enough. Until then, I will use my legs or a transport if I’m going somewhere unattended. I will report for medical check-up once a week for now. I will download the supplied information on Cybertronian history and culture, and familiarize myself with that knowledge.” I pause – there’s something I’ve forgotten, I know it. “Oh! And I will keep myself adequately fueled and rested at all times.”

“There’s my sparklet.” Ratchet grins. “Alright, I’m ready to let you go. Sign here, please.”

I put in the complicated but elegant glyph that is my Cybertronian name on the datapad. It feels like writing calligraphy, it’s so complex.

“Great. I’m so proud of you, Isobel.” His voice turns gruff as he turns away from me. “Now get out of here before I find a reason to keep you. Didn’t you have an apartment to view? If you take much longer, it’ll be gone. And then you’re stuck with us until something else crops up.”

Like he would mind that. Ratchet’s such a softie.

“I did,” I reply cheerfully. “And Mirage and Hound are waiting for me. I’ll see you tonight!”

“Sure you will,” I hear as I turn away and leave the office. “If I ever get done with the rest of today’s checkups. And don’t speed down the ramp!” he calls after me.

As if I would. I don’t know how to drive myself properly yet.

That can wait, though. For now, I have a lunch appointment, and then there’s a real estate broker waiting for me. There’s a free apartment in Mirage’s and Hound’s building, and I really really _really_ want it.

Moonracer’s more of a coordinator than a broker, really. I suppose Groove was trying to use a term I’m familiar with. Which is nice of him, but considering all the other stuff I have to get used to, the idea that there’s a bot who’s in charge of allocating housing instead of people just buying and selling it for themselves is not that far of a stretch.

I’m not complaining, though. If this works out, he’ll have gotten me a place to live. That isn’t with my pseudo-parents. Much as I love them, I’m ready to stand on my own feet. Pedes.

“There she is! Hey, Cynosura!”

I turn towards the cheerful voice as I exit the hospital. Hound’s there, waving at me, looking just like he did when they picked me up from Earth in a previous lifetime. I’m ridiculously happy to see him.

The mech on his arm I’ve never seen before, though. He’s slim, blue and white, and elegant – it’s a strange word to apply to a metal being, but it’s really the only word that fits.

“Hello, Cynosura,” he greets me. There’s a small smile on his lips. “I suppose you don’t recognize me in this frame.”

I stare at him. Because, yeah, I totally didn’t. “Mirage? Wow! You look – different.”

Understatement of the year. The only one I can imagine looks more different from Earth to now is, well, me.

“It’s how I used to look,” he says, pulling away from Hound slightly and turning a bit to let me see him better. “The Earth frame was a temporary military upgrade, with thicker plating that could take more damage. I am very glad to be back to myself again.”

“I’m very happy about too.” Hound is practically purring as he pulls Mirage close to him again. “I liked the red well enough, but I’ve missed this.” He nuzzles Mirage’s flaring helmvent. “It’s so much easier to get my arms around you.”

“I do fit much better like this,” Mirage agrees, smiling at his mate. “Like I was meant to be here.”

I giggle at them. “Okay, if you two’re going to be this ridiculously sappy throughout our lunch, I’m calling First Aid to join us.”

That has Hound laughing. “So sue me if I’m giddy about my mate being the most gorgeous mech on Cybertron.”

“Haven’t you two been bonded for vorn at this point?” I tease. “Shouldn’t the rose-colored lenses have fallen off by now?”

“Never.” Hound nuzzles Mirage’s face, and it’s so sweet that I can practically _feel_ my spark calling out for my Protectobot.

Both of them, actually. We need to set up a date or something again. I don’t see nearly enough of them.

But that’s for another time.

“Well, that’s all well and good. But one of Ratchet’s conditions for letting me go was that I feed myself, and if we keep standing here that’ll never happen.” I link my arm with Mirage’s. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” He smiles down at me. He’s not as tall as he was, I can tell when I compare to Hound, but he’s still taller than I am.

Mirage sets the pace, and he’s practically promenading. So we’re strolling down the streets, all three of us arm-in-arm, and getting no few strange looks from passers-by.

I guess we do look a bit out of the ordinary.

Hound meets every stare with a grin, though, and Mirage just looks smug as all heck. So I end up smiling as well.

And maybe play _Sh-boom_ for myself, in my own mind.

I’m ridiculously proud that I can walk and manage my music player at once.

“So,” Mirage says, grinning at me. “Have you had the grand tour yet?”

I shake my head. “I’ve barely even been outside.”

“Well, then we know what to do now, don’t we?” Hound winks.

“Get our meal to go and do the tour,” Mirage concludes, with a tone and air like it’s already decided whether I agree or not.

Well, I guess I’ll certainly work up an appetite. Maybe I can try walking, refueling and talking to someone else all at once, too. It’ll be progress.

Mirage smiles at me again and leans close to my audial. “I’m so glad we can be friends like this.”

I squeeze his arm. “You and me both.”

 

_Dear diary,_

_Guess what?_

_I GOT THE APARTMENT!_

_It’s so perfect! It’s got two berthrooms and a living room and a kitchen of sorts. It’s a kitchenette, really, with a cooler and a hot plate and some cabinets. Sort of like what Optimus and Ratchet have, really, which I guess is what passes for kitchens here. It’s certainly enough for me – my needs at this point extend to a cupboard and the equivalent of a spice rack._

_I’m going to maybe knock the wall between the berthrooms down and make one room with space for a really large berth. A really, really large berth. Must fit three._

_We haven’t really had the chance to hang out just the three of us. Not really. Maybe a big berth can give us an excuse._

_Seriously, it’s so awesome. And I can see the square with the council building and stuff from my living room window. Hound and Mirage are two floors up, and they say the neighbors will be happy to meet me. So I’m looking forward to that._

_Lunch was so nice. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed them. How much I’ve missed all my friends, really._

_And there are still some gaping holes there._

_So it’s time for me to get out of Ratchet’s and Optimus’ – well, not hair. Lair, maybe. It’s time for me to get out of their lair and start earning my keep again._

_And there are two bots I need to find._

 

I thought getting Ratchet to finally let me go was hard. That amounts to nothing compared to the mountain of bureaucracy I have to wade through to be allowed to practice psychology.

It doesn’t help that the mech in charge of deciding whether I can do so or not is one I don’t know from before.

Who also has no knowledge of Earth apart from the reports he’s read.

And who, therefore, doesn’t know what psychology _is_.

And who can’t seem to wrap his mind around the fact that talking to someone can actually be a cure.

“Let me make sure I’ve understood,” Ultra Magnus says slowly. “It’s a form of mental therapy that requires the subject to willingly talk about their problems.”

I nod. “Yes, sir.” This mech is one of those you always call sir, no matter what.

“And you’ve specialized in this form of therapy, in particular when it comes to mental trauma associated with war.”

I nod again.

“And the training you’ve received, though long enough to take up most of your adult human lifetime, still took less time than Ratchet’s first field medicine course.”

Now he’s being ornery on purpose. I’m sure of it.

Deep breaths, Isobel.

“I just want to help,” I say, as firmly as I dare with this mech. “I know I can help. I can get testimonies, if you like. Recommendations.”

He steeples his fingers and frowns at me. “And what do you wish to get out of this, Cynosura?”

Oh, for the love of all that is holy.

“I want to help,” I insist. “I have all these skills, and I sit here and watch all these mecha needing my skills, and I can’t help them as it is. These are my _friends_ , my _family_ , this is my new _home planet_ , and I want to be of use. For heaven’s sake, the only reason I was brought here in the first place was so that I could help!”

Those cool eyes are watching me. He’s different, this one – it’s like he’s inherently professional, that’s his purpose and function, that’s how he defines himself.

It’s an intriguing personality quirk. One that I’ll probably never be allowed to get more acquainted with, because there’s no way this mech will seek therapy for _anything_.

“Let me set up a hypothetical scenario for you,” he says finally. “Imagine a young mech. He grows up well, but war is brewing, and though his city’s out of the way and has few resources worth conquering it won’t stay safe for long. So he joins the side he hopes is the right one, and goes through the rigorous training to become a warrior, all in the hopes of keeping his city safe. His first battle is rough, the next is rougher, but by the fifth it’s routine. And in his fourteenth battle, one of his immediate superiors is shot in front of him. The wounded soldier is a truckformer, large and heavy, and falls back upon his lighter frame and pins him to the ground. He’s stuck there, underneath a dying mech, for the majority of the battle and the cleanup. All the while, the wounded mech’s energon flows over his frame, sticking in his joints and gumming up his cabling. And all the while, he keeps talking to the wounded mech in the hopes that he’ll stay online long enough that the medics can get to him before his spark gutters. When they finally get the wounded mech off him and reveals that the young mech is uninjured, he’s given a pat on the back and a ride back to base and told to clean himself off and have a pleasant recharge. It takes weeks before he learns if his wounded superior even survived.” He focuses on me. “Now. What would you say to this soldier?”

I stare at him. Because, seriously? That’s his hypothetical scenario?

“That depends on what he sought my help for,” I force out. “Is it survivor’s guilt? Does he feel he should have done more? Is he now suddenly afraid of being stuck, so much so that it’s become a liability in battle? Recharge terrors? Does he now have a compulsive cleaning regime because it always feels like he has someone else’s energon under his plating?”

Now Ultra Magnus is the one staring at me.

_Hah. Keep staring. I could go on all day, mech._

“Let me give you a scenario instead,” I say firmly. Well, as firmly as I dare with this mech. “Imagine a young soldier. He’s on his first deployment, but he’s been there for a while now and he’s getting used to it. He’s made friends among the other soldiers and the locals. Then one day his troop is attacked while they’re trying to secure a local village. Two of the other soldiers, of his friends, are killed instantly. His commanding officer’s injured. The rookie of the group is trying frantically to radio for backup. Now, the soldier can see one of the insurgents. He’s got his gun trained on him at this point, ready to fire. The moment he does, the insurgent manages to pull one of the locals in front of him. A young woman. A non-combatant.”

I can tell I have his attention now. Good, because I’m making my point whether he likes it or not.

“This soldier shot and killed her. Unintentional, yes, and tragic, but she’s no less dead. Her small son is no less alone in the world.”

“Tragedies happen in war,” Ultra Magnus says softly.

“Yes,” I agree, “and soldiers have to learn to live with them.”

“So what happened with this particular soldier?”

“He tried to push through it. Tell himself that it was unavoidable, not his fault, couldn’t be helped. Kept track of her son, made sure he had what he needed. As much as could be had in war, anyway. Then his deployment was over, and he was sent back home. That’s when he broke down. He couldn’t handle the guilt – every young woman he saw became the woman he killed, every small child her son, until he became afraid to leave home because he couldn’t handle his flashbacks. He was on the verge of losing his apartment, his benefits, everything, when he finally began undergoing therapy.”

Ultra Magnus nods slowly. “I’ve seen mecha act in similar manner. What did you do?”

“It took time,” I admit. “We had to work our way down to the core of the issue, because he flinched away from it. He’d also developed anxiety, and the guilt had led to a slew of other issues as well. So it took time. But, eventually, he was able to function in society again. He transferred to another psychologist. Last I heard, he’d gotten married. And he’d kept in touch with the orphaned boy, sending him money and such, making sure the kid got schooling. It’s as happy an ending as such a story ever gets, in my opinion.”

He looks at me. Scrutinizes me, really. “I’ve had bots offline themselves because they couldn’t handle the guilt.”

I meet that gaze evenly. “Then you know there’s a need for what I can do.”

For a moment, neither of us say anything. I don’t look away.

“Very well,” he says finally. “I’ll double-check with Ratchet, and we’ll need to edit the medical legislation. Barring any issues with that, I’ll get a confirmation sent over to you within a few days. We’ll get your designation added to the list of medics.”

“That’s excellent. Thank you.” I manage not to exhale in relief, but it’s a near thing. “Is there anything in the way of my beginning to search for an appropriate office space now?”

“None,” he replies. “You don’t want to operate out of the hospital?”

“I’d rather not. I’d like a neutral space. It tends to put clients more at ease.”

“I suppose I can understand that.” He stands, and whoa is this mech tall. It feels like he’s close to double my height, though that’s probably an exaggeration. Still, I have to crane my neck to look him in the optics.

“Welcome to Cybertron, Cynosura.” His giant hand near swallows mine. “I look forward to working with you.”

One hurdle down, one to go.

Now I have to hunt down an office space.

 

_Dear diary,_

_It was actually nice to meet Ultra Magnus. Even though he was a hassle to handle. I think that’s mainly because he’s so strict._

_But he’s well-adjusted. He’s calm._

_It’s a blessing to meet someone who hasn’t been completely traumatized by this war. They’re few and far between._

_And now I probably jinxed myself. Oh well. He’ll be one of the first to learn where my office space is anyway, so he’ll know where to go if he needs it._

_I’m going to start compiling a list of which bots I’d like to see once I’m operational. Some of them require different tactics._

_Bluestreak, Mirage, Skyfire, the rest of the ones I saw on Earth, they should all be fine with regular office sessions. Some of them are maybe even doing better now. But there are some who I know are doing much worse, and I need a plan for handling them._

_Ratchet told me the referral system can still be active. And that he has a shortlist of Decepticons to see me already. I had kind of expected that, though it’s going to be an interesting challenge to deal with the other side, so to speak. He promised he’d start me off with some of the easier ones, but I’m not sure anything Megatron touched is going to be easy to fix._

_And then there are the Neutrals. That’s a whole different kettle of fish. Some of them never saw the war, just had to run from it and find a safe place – and some have lived with the threat of violence over their heads for millions of years._

_I’m going to bet there’s a lot of every diagnosis possible here. I wish I had some of my reference books, since my memory’s kind of sketchy. But I’m rereading my thesis, anyway. I’ll have to make do with what I’ve got._

Finding an office space turns out to be a lot harder than I had expected. It looks like the rebuilding effort hasn’t gotten further than the necessaries – adequate housing for everyone, medical and engineering facilities, the council building, a handful of warehouses and businesses.

Nothing that suits my needs. And after spending all day walking around the settlement – Pax Novum, they’re calling it, which seems a bit ambitious for what I’ve seen so far; apparently it’s being built on the ruins of what was once Tyger Pax, which explains some of it – I’m fair fit to give up and grab an office in the hospital after all. At least for now.

Still. It’s pretty, what they’ve finished of the town. From the bench at the center of the square in front of the council building, it almost looks complete. The bright façade of Ratchet’s hospital down the street balances with the more traditional look of the council building behind me, and there are mecha walking around and chatting. Typical city-scape.

Almost complete. The unfinished park mars it somewhat. And the fountain is nice, all sharp angles and geometric shapes, but it has no water or anything running through it yet.

I guess the artistic finishing touches will have to wait until they’re on top of the rebuilding effort. It would make sense.

Besides, they’re still missing their main artist. Though I do have hopes to fix that.

It’s a good place for a break, this bench. And for trying to consume the energon cube I brought with me - though ‘trying’ is really the operative word. It’s _nasty_. I thought I’d gotten used to the flavor by now, but I’m having serious issues with this.

“Lukewarm’s not the best if you’re not used to it,” a deep voice says from behind me. “You’d be better off with either heated or chilled, or at least with some additives in it.”

“I usually put additives in it,” I agree, looking down at my miserable excuse for fuel. “But I didn’t know how to reseal the cube, so I didn’t dare to open it. I don’t even know if it stays good after the additives are in, or if it’s a fresh thing like the whipped cream on cocoa. And I couldn’t find anything to put the additives in so I could bring them. So today it’s plain, lukewarm energon.” I turn to look up at him. “Guess I have a lot to learn about being Cybertronian still. Hello, Thundercracker.”

“Hello, Cynosura.” He offers me a small smile. “Mind if I sit?”

“Sure.” I gesture at the bench. “Whoever made this made it big enough for at least two.”

I’d half expected to feel a bit intimidated. I was, back on Earth. But Thundercracker looks tired somehow, almost sad, and though a smidgeon of fear should perhaps have been a logical response it just doesn’t manifest.

I’m glad. It will make it so much easier for me to work with the Decepticons if I don’t react like they’re going to hurt me every moment they’re near.

Besides, I’m a Cybertronian now. And I might as well stop being afraid of the ones who’ve never really hurt me.

“Here.” Thundercracker hands me a small packet. “I like this blend. It works with any temperature energon.”

I bury the instant gut reaction that says I shouldn’t let a stranger put anything in my drink. I’m made of metal now and have two medics on speed-dial. I think I’ll be fine.

“Thanks.” Into the cube it goes. The first sip is not bad. The next is better. I give Thundercracker a smile. “So how are things?”

He shrugs. It’s a very elaborate movement with those wings. “I’m doing okay. I work surveys with Bee and Blurr – not my life’s ambition, but it’s interesting enough. Lets me fly plenty.” He looks at me. Looks away. Looks at me again.

Jesus.

“Spit it out, Thundercracker. I can tell there’s something you want.”

He tries for a smile. “Must be all that psychology training, huh.”

“That,” I agree. “And you’re about as transparent as a sheet of glass.”

“Clearly.” He smiles slightly, though it doesn’t quite seem to reach his optics. I can tell he hesitates to speak. “Okay, I’ll just get right to it then. Do you take on patients now?”

“Not yet.” I shake my head. “Unfortunately. But soon. I’m waiting for Ultra Magnus to send me the paperwork and update the legislation that will allow me to practice. He said it would just take a few days. Why, what did you have in mind?”

He sighs. “Starscream.”

Starscream. The top of my list of mecha who require special consideration and need treatment both urgently and long-term.

I lower my voice. “How’s he doing? Any improvement?”

He shakes his head slightly. “Not really. He’s… Sometimes he’s there, we can talk to him, he knows who we are and where he is. But sometimes he’s confused, keeps asking how the war goes, giving us orders, talking to Megatron like he’s there. And on the really bad days he doesn’t really register us at all. He just stares into the distance.” The optics he turns on me are imploring. “Can you help him?”

“I can certainly try,” I reply firmly. “I know what I think it sounds like. But I’d need to talk to him. And there’s one thing I need to know first.”

“As long as you’re willing to try,” Thundercracker replies. He sounds relieved. “What do you need?”

Now it’s my turn to hesitate. This is never an easy topic to breach, and I’m not even sure how things work here. “I’m going to guess, based on how you describe him, that Starscream’s not able to make sound decisions on his own behalf at this point. Does anyone have legal guardianship of him?”

He frowns. “How do you mean?”

“Well, on Earth,” I explain, “when someone is sick enough that they can’t make informed decisions, they need a legal guardian. With children it’s often the parents, with adults it’s often a spouse or grown children or other members of the family.”

His optics brighten. “Oh, like that. Yeah, we have that. Skywarp and I are responsible for Starscream right now. You can ask Ratchet, we signed a document for initial treatment so he should have it on file.”

“Good.” I smile at him. “That’ll make things a lot simpler.”

He smiles at that, but it looks more like a mask than anything. He still looks so dejected. I make a mental note to schedule in both Thundercracker and Skywarp when I get a schedule going.

“Hey.” I reach out to touch his arm. “Don’t give up hope yet. I’ll make him a priority, I promise.”

He sighs, scrub a hand across his face. “I really do appreciate that. It’s just… hard.”

“I know.” There really isn’t more to say about that.

 

_Seeing Thundercracker really got me thinking. There are so many of them who’re in similar situations – losing someone, being next of kin to someone who’s seriously ill, being victims themselves. I’m starting to wonder if there’s anyone on this planet without serious mental trauma._

_Barring, maybe, Ultra Magnus._

_I think I want to look into creating support groups of some sort. Maybe of several sorts. Of course, it’s not going to be for everyone, because nothing ever is… But I can see it help someone like Thundercracker, who’s open to talking about his experiences. If there was someone else in his situation, I’d have already suggested it._

_The faction lines seem to have blurred a lot already. As far as I’ve seen, there are quite a few on either side – or all three sides, really – that would be willing to be civil to each other._

_There are so many mecha here I don’t know yet. But maybe Ratchet and that receptionist – Greenlight? – can help me. If I make it an open offer, maybe I’ll be surprised at who shows up._

_I think I’ll do it. As soon as Ultra Magnus gets me my license and has me registered as a medic, I’m going to post an open support group for war trauma survivors. And then people can interpret that however they may._

_Maybe I should reach out to a few of them. Some of the less infamous ones, to not freak out any neutrals. Just to make sure someone actually shows._

_Mirage, maybe. He’s calm and collected, but he could do with some more help. And Bluestreak, if he can handle it. Maybe Bumblebee. One of the Protectobots – not Blades – just because they’re really suited for this work. A few Decepticons too – maybe Laserbeak? She’s seen a lot. I can’t really get a seeker, since they’ve been airbombing everyone into oblivion since forever, so those wings might in themselves be triggering._

_I’ll talk to Laserbeak about it. She might know of someone._

“Unlock the door, Belle?” Groove smiles at me around the large stack of boxes in his arms. “This is getting heavy.”

“Give me a moment. I haven’t used one of these before.” I stare at the doorlock, which is less a lock than a flat metal square next to the doorjamb. “What do I even do?”

Groove shifts his grip on the boxes. They’re apparently heavier than they look. “Put your palm against it. Then input the code. Moonracer gave you that, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.” The panel slides aside at my touch to reveal a keypad. The code is ridiculously long, a combination of numerals and symbols, all in that Cybertronian script I’m not very good at yet. It takes me a few tries before the door clicks open. “There.”

I pick my own boxes back up to carry them inside. The apartment is still mostly empty, the bright daylight streaming in through the windows illuminating the pale floors and blank walls.

Groove drops his load on the floor and turns to do something to the door. “I’ll go help the others with the rest. The door’s locked open now, so it won’t close until we’re done. Start emptying these ones?”

“Sure.” I’m distracted by the view, though. It’s just as gorgeous as last time I was here, but now I have better time to look.

My own apartment. I still can’t really believe I’m here. The view helps convince me, though.

Outside, there are mecha everywhere I look. Crossing the public square, around the geometric not-quite-a-fountain I was sitting by yesterday. Walking into the council building – I’m going to find out which office is Prowl’s, so I can help Jazz nag at him when he’s working too late. And so I can wave at him from my window.

The streets are… not quite crowded, but not empty either. This town is alive. Vibrant. Comfortable. Peaceful.

Across the street, two familiar figures are leaving the building opposite mine. Two Decepticons I haven’t seen in well over a century.

Before I know I’ve decided to do it, I’m sliding open the floor-to-ceiling windows and leaning out against the railing. “Hey, Scrapper! Hook!”

I also hadn’t really decided to shout loud enough to get everyone staring at me. Oh well. At least I can see Groove grinning up at me from where he’s unloading the flatbed trailer we borrowed.

“Hey, Cynosura!” Hook shouts back. I figured he’d recognize me. “How’re you doing? Moving in?”

“Yes!” Damn all this shouting, now people are giggling. “Today!”

“Well, welcome to the neighborhood!” Scrapper calls. “We’ve got the whole building here, so come over when you want to! Scavenger’s been wanting to talk to you about some stuff he brought from Earth!”

“It’s junk,” Hook grumbles loudly, “but he won’t take my word for that.”

I giggle. “Sure! I’ll come over to visit you guys soon, okay?”

The nod up at me and wave before walking down the street again.

I leave the windows open – the air’s nice and fresh, and I like hearing the town all alive outside. It’s a nice enough background soundtrack to my unpacking.

In fact…

What’s the point of having speakers in my abdomen if I’m not going to use them? I don’t think I’ve exposed the Cybertronians to Billy Joel yet. And today feels like an Uptown Girl day.

Unpacking turns into a dance, as my meager collection of possessions and fairly large pile of contributions from my friends and family – and in one case slight acquaintance, since I don’t know what to think about Ultra Magnus giving me a potted crystal as a housewarming gift - leave their boxes to find a place in my new home.

My photo albums, safe in my old suitcase for a hundred years, onto the newly installed shelf. My games next to them.

My blankets and pillows and everything soft I brought from Earth. I make a mental note to thank Wheeljack for finding a way to keep them safe in this environment.

Everything’s so tiny in my hands. What was once big enough to cover me completely now fits on half a shelf.

Still soft, though. I rub what used to be my favorite quilt across my cheek.

It still _smells_ like Earth.

“I didn’t know you were friends with the Constructicons.”

I turn to Streetwise and help him navigate the long metal struts that are part of the berthframe into the right room. “You know, I’m not really? But today just feels like one of those days where I’m friends with everyone.”

“Well, they’re nice enough mecha, now that we’re not on opposite sides of the war,” he allows as we lower the pieces carefully. “And I know they helped out with your frame.”

“I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone.”

Streetwise chuckles at my eagerness. “Good. Because there are a lot of mecha who’re excited to meet you.”

Groove comes in, drops another box near the frame. “I think these are the bolts. And Blades says he’s nearly here with the berthpad.” He winks at me. “It’s a good thing you opened the windows.”

“Opened the windows?” That makes no sense.

Unless…

Groove laughs at the look on my face. “You got it, Belle. Your berth is delivered by air.”

I dart to the window, hanging over the railing to look out. In the distance, there’s a helicopter carrying a large parcel. He’s coming closer by the second.

“Stand back, Isobel,” Streetwise says, nudging me gently to move me aside. “The bond we’ve got simplifies this, so let us handle it.”

I’m not going to argue. Besides, watching two big robots drag what is essentially a mattress through a third story window is not something you see every day.

Under my watchful and clueless optic, the three Protectobots I’ve booked for the day assemble the berth frame. I have to suppress a giggle while they’re bolting it together – it reminds me of a certain flatpack furniture warehouse back on Earth.

Still, for all the lack of instruction manuals, it doesn’t take them too long. Blades dumps an armful of bedding on the berth and begins conjuring up pillows, emptying what seems like his entire subspace.

It seems I owe a lot of mechs a thankyou-note.

“I think that’s it,” Streetwise comments, looking around. “We’ve emptied the flatbed, and what’s left here I think you need to manage, Isobel.”

“Not before time either,” Blades agrees. “I have a shift to get to.”

“You all do, don’t you?” I hand them each an energon cube. My dispenser is just like the one at Ratchet’s place, thankfully. And he made sure I packed a whole contingent of additives.

“Not me,” Groove says cheerfully. “If you need some more help.”

I don’t think I do, really. But there’s no way in hell I’m throwing Groove out.

Something must have shown on my face, because Blades smirks, looking from me to Groove. “I think that’s our clue to leave, Streets.”

Streetwise throws me a lazy salute. “I think you’re right, brother. Good night, you two!”

Blades throws himself out the window and transforms, hovering outside for a moment. “Come on, Streets, I’ll give you a lift. Bye guys! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That’s basically carte blanche, Blades,” Groove calls back as Streetwise jumps outside and grabs Blades’ landing gear.

“Thanks for the help!” I holler as they fly off.

“Sure thing, princess!”

Earth rubbed off hard on the Protectobots. Though I had hoped they’d all forgotten about the princess thing. Guess it was too much to hope for.

When I turn around, Groove is suddenly right there. I mean, right there, so close I’m almost drowning in those optics.

“Welcome home,” he says softly, with that smile that’s so like his brother’s and yet not. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” I put my arms around his neck and pull him close enough that my forehead rests against his. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.” His hands are on my waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles over my plating. “Can I stay a bit longer?”

 _As long as you want_ , I think, and _Forever_ , and a bunch of other sappy phrases I know we’re not quite ready for yet. “Of course you can.”

There’s something in the air now, something tingly and anticipatory and honestly a little nerve-wracking, and I buy myself some time by dragging a finger across Groove’s chest. It comes away dusty.

He chuckles. “Point taken. Can I use your wash rack?”

“Go ahead.” My voice is husky, I know it, and I can feel Groove’s engine dropping into a deeper purr in response. He does manage to tear himself away, though, turning and walking through the door at the far end of the room.

As soon as the door closes behind him, I take a deep breath. And send a ping to the other most important person in my comm directory.

It doesn’t take him too long to respond.

::Hey, love! Moving going well?::

::Very well.:: I swallow, suddenly incredibly nervous. ::We’re done, in fact. And Streets and Blades have left.::

::Ah.::

It’s like he knows what’s going on. What I’m going to ask. So I just steel myself and go ahead.

::Aid, can Groove and I…:: Another deep breath. ::Can we break in my new berth without you?::

There’s a pause, and then he chuckles. ::You don’t have to ask permission, love. I know we haven’t really discussed boundaries and such, but Groove and I have had a century to figure out what we want. And how to share.::

::So… you’re okay with that?::

::Well, I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t wish I could join you.:: His tone is wistful. ::But honestly, Isobel? I’d say it’s about time you two got some time together alone. You need to get to know each other better.::

My Protectobot is perfect.

::First Aid, I love you.::

Another chuckle. ::I love you too, Isobel. Have fun.::

Have fun, he says. Like I’m not ninety percent nerves at this point.

I try pacing, and sitting, and wondering how the hell Groove can use hours in the wash rack and whether I should get Ratchet or First Aid to look over my chronometer, because it has to be malfunctioning. In the end I just rearrange the datapads on the shelf, over and over and over and over, until two strong hands catch mine and make me stop.

Groove doesn’t say anything. He just presses his mouth to my shoulder, planting small kisses and nibbles along the plating up to my neck. Licks the cables there before sucking one into his mouth.

I go strutless in his arms. Luckily Groove seems to be prepared for that, because he supports my weight easily. Without pausing for a moment.

Somehow he manages to maneuver us towards the berth room. I’m not sure how, considering my legs aren’t working and my optics offlined somehow, but I do notice when he leans me back until there’s softness supporting my frame.

“You’re so beautiful, Belle,” he whispers. “I don’t have the words.”

I reach for him. I don’t need the words. I just need him to keep touching me.

He chuckles, clearly getting it, because those fingers travel down my frame, dipping into seams that I didn’t know were this sensitive. His breath is warm on me, even as I’m heating up. I can feel myself shivering.

This time, I don’t get any of those warning symbols on my HUD. Thank Ratchet for small favors.

Groove’s mouth moves then, from my throat and down across my chest, teasing and nipping. I squirm at the too-light touches. They’re not enough, and I want more, but I don’t know of what.

I don’t know of what.

“Groove,” I manage, though my voice is almost a moan, “I don’t know how this works. Interfacing. I don’t know what to do.”

That brings him back up to where we can look at each other again. Groove’s smiling slightly. “Do you want the lecture,” he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle my cheek, “or the practical demonstration?”

I pinch his side. “Don’t be a tease.”

“Fair enough.” His hand catches mine, pulling it down to rest against his hip. “Remember that tactile overload?”

Like I could forget. Groove apparently reads my faint moan as agreement, because he continues talking. And touching. I seriously didn’t know my finials were that… erogenous.

“That’s one way of doing it.” His voice is soft, pulling at something in me I don’t recognize. “Another, and the most intimate, is sparks, which we won’t do yet and definitely not without Aid here. The third...” He touches my hand on his hip again, guides my fingers in a rough square pattern.

There’s a tiny seam under my fingertips. When I begin tracing it on my own, Groove groans slightly.

“The third is hardline,” he manages. “Want to give it a try?”

I don’t know what I’m agreeing to at this point, and I don’t care. I just nod, pulling him closer with one hand and pushing harder against that small square with the other.

It opens, moving aside under my fingers. Underneath, there are what feels like cables.

Hardline. Cables.

I have to suppress a giggle again. It would really be a moodkiller at this point.

But if this is anything like a LAN or something I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stay serious.

Groove’s fingers are tracing across my own hip, clearly looking for my own small square. It’s clear to me when he finds it, because suddenly there’s enough sensation to have me arching off the berth.

“Whoa –“

“Whoa’s right, Belle.” He smiles. “Open for me?”

Oh good, another command I have to learn. His fingers become more insistent, teasing at the edges, and a notice pops up on my HUD to open my port cover.

I accept. Here goes nothing.

Groove teases at the exposed cables, and I arch up again. There’s something in there that’s incredibly sensitive, but he’s not quite hitting the spot, and it’s getting frustrating.

I don’t realize I’m moaning in frustration until he chuckles at me. “Relax, beautiful. I’ve got you.”

He tugs at my cables, pulling them free of the housing, and what I thought was a bunch of cables turn out to be one long, thin length with a slim silver plug at the end. Groove smirks at me as he takes hold of the plug, bringing it up to his lips.

When he licks it, the pleasure is so intense my vocalizer shorts out. All I manage to produce is some form of static.

I’m too afraid of hurting something to reciprocate, though, so I tug at Groove’s free hand to get him to unspool his own cable.  He keeps teasing my plug while he’s doing it, too, which doesn’t exactly help my focus.

It feels _amazing_.

“Now, the plug,” Groove says, and he doesn’t sound unaffected either, “goes in the corresponding port. Want to do it yourself?”

I hold up my hands so he can see them. They’re shaking. Some of it’s because I’m turned on, I know, but quite a lot of it’s nerves. “Does it look like I can be trusted with sensitive components?”

He laughs quietly. “I’d trust you with quite a lot, Belle, but I get your point.” He holds up my plug. It’s so sensitive even the air around it feels like a caress. “Watch.”

I do try. And it’s easy enough to watch as he slowly pulls the plug towards his own port, there on his hip next to the cable. But the moment it comes even slightly close, there’s an intense pull, and it feels like my plug’s almost vibrating.

It’s even more intense than when he licked it. And when it finally connects, with a faint click I can barely hear –

I don’t have words. Literally, because my vocalizer’s shut down again, along with my optics. And I can feel someone in my head, like I’m reaching out to something, but I don’t know what it is yet. Not until I can feel Groove’s plug clicking into my own port.

I was wrong. This is nothing like a LAN at all.

This is… This is intense pleasure, the like of which I’ve never, ever experienced, not even as a human. Everything’s sharpened – more sensation, more pleasure, warmer, colder, _everything_. And in the middle of it all, in the middle of a maelstrom of feeling that’s threatening to overwhelm me, there’s Groove.

He’s a solid presence, offering a connection. And I accept, because that’s the point, isn’t it? Even though I don’t know how much more of this I can take, it’s already almost too much for me.

“I’m sending the first charge packet now,” someone says, and I realize it’s Groove, of course it is, he’s both inside my head and outside it. And I don’t have the time to ask what that even means before something surges across the connection and explodes through my frame, setting off sensors from my toes to the tip of my shoulder blades, and it’s hard to tell where the charge ends and the real touches begin. I know I’m moaning, and there’s a name in there somewhere, and Groove’s chuckling, though I can’t say if it’s in my head or if it’s real…

“Send it back, love.”

I don’t know how. I don’t even know how to say that I don’t know how. Everything in my mind is pleasure, and I can’t think straight.

“Gather up the sensations and throw them at me.”

I try. I focus on the feeling, as much as I can, and push them at the connection.

By Groove’s moan and sudden arching, I managed. Though I don’t have time to revel in my success before the charge comes right back, bursting along every seam and cable in me, and now I can see the faint sparks that flash into existence across my plating, and across his as well.

I feel like I might melt. Or explode. Whatever happens next.

“One more, Belle,” Groove says, and now he’s panting, his plating scorching hot against my hands. I gather up everything I have and push it at him. He groans, almost crashes down on top of me, and immediately I’m assaulted with the strongest charge yet. It washes over me, and in its wake, everything turns black.

 

“Isobel…”

I groan a bit at the voice. Everything has a pleasant ache to it, like I’ve done yoga for hours. Or got run over by a truck.

“Belle…”

“Shaddup,” I manage. “’M sleeping.”

There’s a soft chuckle. “Wake up, sleepy beautiful. I need to get some fuel in you.”

Like that’s reason enough to wake up.

Hands move over my frame, along with something moist. It takes me a moment to realize that Groove’s cleaning me with a damp cloth. It feels nice – I’m not that warm any more, for all that I’m sore all over.

“Come on, Belle. Aid’ll have my plating for space shielding if I don’t get you refueled.”

That has me onlining my optics and frowning at him. “No using Aid’s puppy eyes to guilt trip me into anything.”

He smiles, holds up a cube. I can see the additives floating in it. “Not even this? I added carbon.”

“Oh, fine.” I draw a put-upon sigh. “Gimme.”

He hands over the cube and waits politely until I’ve finished it. Then he drops down next to me in the berth.

“So… was that okay?”

I consider for a moment. Yeah, I feel all dismantled, but in a good way. And having Groove in my head was… “Yeah.” I smile at him. “Yeah, it was amazing.”

He’s just close enough to snuggle against, though it takes me more than a few tries before I find a position that allows for my shoulder blades and finials to be comfortable. When we finally slot together properly, it’s like I was sculpted to fit against him like this – my legs tangling with his, one arm around his waist, my head tucked up under his chin.

“Maybe we can try sparks with First Aid next time we’re all off together.” This close, Groove’s voice almost tickle my finials.

“I have to have a job to have time off, but yeah. I’d love to plan for that.”

Reflexively, I check my queue. Not that I expect much – it’s late, not even Ultra Magnus will be working now.

Except, it seems he is. Or he was, half an hour ago.

Groove clearly notices something’s up. Maybe my gasp alerts him. “What’s up?”

I skim through the documents Ultra Magnus sent. They’re a lot of legalese and it’s going to take me a while to get the details, but the gist of them is clear enough.

“I’ve been approved.” I laugh, more than a little giddy, and squeeze Groove tighter. “I can practice on Cybertron.”

“About time,” Groove says with real feeling. “We need it. So many mechs need it.” He nuzzles the top of my head. “Any idea where you’re going to start?”

Clever Groove, not asking for names. He knows I can’t give them.

“Yeah,” I reply. “Yeah, I know exactly where to start. But I need to talk to Aid first.” I pull back a bit so I can look at him. “You mind if I comm him now? It won’t take long.”

He smiles. “No, it’s fine, Belle.” He pulls me closer again, tucks my head back under his chin. “You can comm him from right here.”

I giggle and snuggle in as close as I can. “Sure.”

::Hey, First Aid!::

::Isobel? Something wrong?:: His tone turns teasing. ::Don’t tell me you’re tired of Groove already.::

::Nah, I’m never letting either of you go. That’s not why I’m calling. Guess what! I’ve been approved!::

He knows what I mean instantly. ::That’s great news, Isobel! I thought you would be, but I know it’s been chafing on you.::

::Yeah, it has. And now I need your advice. I know who I want to contact first, who I should have contacted a long time ago really, but I don’t know where he is. Can you help me?::

::Probably.:: A faint pause. ::You’re going to find Sunstreaker, aren’t you?::

::He’s like a brother to me.:: I know Aid understands. ::I would have gone to see him already, but I didn’t want to sabotage my chances of getting approval by stumbling into a psych session without the necessary rules in place.::

::I get it. They will, too.:: Aid’s tone changes – suddenly he’s all business. Medic-mode. ::I know where they are, and I’d like to come with you. Sunstreaker hasn’t let himself be examined by a medic since right after the battle against Shockwave. With you there, I stand a chance.::

::I’ll hold onto him if I have to,:: I promise. Not that I think it’ll work for a moment. Sunstreaker’s probably heads and shoulders taller than me and at least twice my mass.

::I’m off-shift in a few days,:: Aid continues. ::Can we go then?::

::Send me the date, I’ll put it in my schedule,:: I confirm. ::We need to make sure Streetwise can come too, though. I’m not allowed to drive anywhere without him.::

::I’ll take care of it.::

::Thanks, Aid. Love you.::

::Love you too. Both of you.::

I smile at that. I’m not sure how Groove and First Aid love each other, really, if it’s the way a human would expect brothers to or if it’s more intimate. I have faint memories of First Aid saying he sometimes interfaced with his gestalt.

Well, I’m in prime position to find out.

::We love you too. And Groove says we should try sparks next time you join us.::

He laughs. ::He loves that. And I’m going to have a hard time focusing on my shift now.::

::I’ll let you be, then. Night, First Aid.::

::Night, love.::

I offline my optics and burrow close to Groove. He’s covered me up with a blanket at some point without me noticing.

“All good?” My head is nuzzled again.

“All good.” I try and fail to suppress the yawn – this body doesn’t need it, but it feels like I do. “And now I’m going to recharge. Night, Groove.”

“Night, Belle. Pleasant dreams.”

I don’t know how much Cybertronians dream. But I’m fairly sure Groove can keep nightmares at bay just by being there. He’s simply that good.

Not sure how I got lucky enough to get two good mechs. But I’m not complaining.

Especially not when Groove begins softly humming an Earth lullaby. He strokes my back slowly, gently. Soothing.

It’s nice to see things finally begin to fall into place. Now I just have to track down my errant brothers, and get a proper office, and I’m all set.

Things are finally falling into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skywarp and Bluestreak now have their own sidestory to this story! Look up "My trust in your hands" if you haven't already :)


	5. Brother

I watch as First Aid puts his kit together. Double-checks levels, packs extra of some things, removes others entirely and replaces some tools with different ones. Ratchet’s here too, hovering, but it’s clear that this is something he expects First Aid to manage on his own. And that First Aid is more than capable of doing so.

“Comm me if you need to,” Ratchet says, for the fourth time. “They shouldn’t be in too poor a shape, unless they’ve been picking fights with Cybertron itself. But half a vorn or so of neglect will have wreaked havoc on their systems.”

First Aid nods. “Okay, Ratchet.” Like it’s not the fourth time he’s heard all that. And that’s just since I walked into the room.

“At least they’re together,” Ratchet grumbles. “That’ll have helped. Wish we could have reined them in and kept them here after Isobel woke up, though, it would have made everything simpler.”

“Yes, Ratchet.”

“And _you_.” He pins me with a stare. “No speeding. No overtaxing your systems. You’ve never been in alt mode for that long before. You’ve never gone fast before.”

“Sure, Ratchet.” I try for a reassuring smile – not that it helped the last two times he gave me that speech. Today.

Ratchet is apprehensive about both of us going into the wilderness to find Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. I guess we all are, for different reasons.

First Aid is only a little nervous, and though some of it’s on my behalf he’s admitted he’s also worried about what kind of state they’re in. He’s not too keen to do emergency repairs out there in the dust and grit.

Streetwise is nervous too, for the twins’ reactions to getting unexpected visitors. Groove ribbed him a bit yesterday, teasing him about being scared to drive with me. Streets shot him down, of course he did, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s part of it even so. I bet Streetwise feels responsible for me, since Ratchet decreed he should escort me until I was okay on my own.

I’ll be careful, though. It’s not like I want to get hurt.

I’m maybe the most nervous out of all of them. How much will this require of me? How far has Sunstreaker gone? Pit, how far has _Sideswipe_ gone to keep Sunstreaker sane? Will they even let me close? Will I be able to get them to come back with us?

There are so many unknowns here, it’s unnerving.

Finally, First Aid seems satisfied with the content of his kit. He subspaces a few cubes of energon and coolant, hands some to me for me to subspace as well, and then we wave goodbye to Ratchet and head down the ramp and outside.

Time to go get my errant brothers.

I transform, dropping to my wheels next to Streetwise. “Ready to go?”

He chuckles. “I don’t know why you’re so eager. It’s a long, dusty drive. You remember the rules?”

“Got them.” Surprisingly, the Cybertronian traffic rules are familiar. I guess common sense transcends species.

“Good. I’ll be in front, then you, then First Aid. Okay?”

“Yes, sir.” I exaggerate the title slightly – if I was in root mode, I’d salute too, just for the heck of it.

Streetwise laughs. “Great. Let’s get going.”

 

As soon as we get past the town border, I’m happy I’m on two wheels and not four. The roads are in an appalling state. It’s clear that the restoration’s mainly been focused on the town itself, not the surrounding area.

It feels a bit like my first driving lesson’s turned into a baptism of fire. I keep dodging holes and cracks, and the road’s as far from a flat surface as it can be and still deserve to be called a road. It’s uneven at best and dangerous at worst, sometimes slanting sharply enough to either side that I half worry I’ll slide off and into the gaps in the planet surface.

 “Okay there, princess?” Streetwise has a harder time of it than me and is more careful, picking his way slowly across the surface. I’m learning a lot just by watching him, about what will carry my weight and what won’t, and how far against the side of the road I can go before I’ll start sliding. By the sound of it First Aid have to be even more careful, and he’s probably half the reason Streetwise is going as slow as he is. Medics are heavy.

“Offroading was never my forte,” I manage while swerving around a long split. “I’m getting plenty of practice in now, though.”

“You’re doing well,” First Aid praises from behind me. ::And you’re seriously hot to look at when you move like that.::

I’d blush if I could. And I’m grateful that First Aid said the last part of that over comms.

Not that the gestalt bond kept any of it secret, judging from how Streetwise is snickering.

We drive for the better part of an hour, Cybertron’s new sun passing overhead. The dust and grit of the road becomes an annoyance, then a frustration, and I’m starting to long for a break. I can feel myself getting tired. I’m not used to driving for this long.

“Streets? We there soon?”

“Not too long, princess. They’re holed up in a cave system not far from here.”

Well, that’s a relief. Though I wish I knew what constituted ‘far’ in Streetwise’s opinion.

I pick my way past the shards of something that looks like half a collapsed building, deeply embedded in the ground. “Hey, Streetwise? Why do you call me princess?” It isn’t a new thing, though I always thought it was a bit of a joke. And when they used it as my codename when slag hit the fan – when Megs hit the tarmac in a gazillion pieces – it kind of made sense. Now, though? Not so much. Half the population of Pax Novum have probably never heard the name before.

“Because you’re like Snow White. When you say something, Autobots flock to you.”

I almost lose control of my wheels on the slick surface. It’s all I can do to slide to a controlled stop. And still, with all that, I can hear the grin in his voice.

These Protectobots are all insane.

First Aid transforms and steps over to steady me. “Easy, love. You’re not used to this yet.” He shoots Streetwise an exasperated look. “I think we can walk from here, don’t you, Streets?”

Streetwise transforms as well and shoots me a grin that can only be called impish. “Sure thing, Aid. It’s just down here.”

I look down the slope we’re facing, and decide to let the Snow White comment go. For now. By the looks of it, I’m going to need all my concentration just to walk.

We follow him as he steps off the road, navigating the debris and chaos that hasn’t been cleaned up yet. It’s tricky going, and I’m glad I’ve gotten steadier on my feet, or we’d never get there.

Of course, I also have a really powerful motivation.

Realistically, the hike doesn’t take more than ten minutes or so, but it feels like it’s taking at least four times that long. When we get to the bottom, it turns out we’ve been scaling the easier slope of a canyon of sorts. There’s still a bit of a drop to the canyon floor, though it’s thankfully not so steep that we can’t walk down. On the opposite wall, there’s a dark, irregular opening. It looks like it might have been a tunnel once, but everything’s collapsed and eroded to the point where it’s barely recognizable as not natural.

“I’m going to ping them on an open channel, see if Sides is there,” Streetwise says quietly. “Pinging them directly is no point, they won’t answer.”

“Isn’t it better for Isobel to do it? Maybe they’d accept her?”

Streetwise is shaking his head before Aid’s even done talking. “They don’t have her comm code. They won’t believe it’s her. Best thing we can do is wait here, see if Sideswipe’ll come out.”

I can’t look away from the cave opening. On some level, I register the ping – since Streetwise is using an open channel, everyone nearby gets it – but I’m barely conscious of it.

I’m just waiting for movement down there.

After a few moments, Streetwise pings again. It goes unanswered as well, and he sighs. “We may have to wait a while. He might be out.”

“What about Sunstreaker?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

First Aid shakes his head. “Sunstreaker doesn’t acknowledge comms.”

That doesn’t sound promising. The Sunstreaker I knew was withdrawn, but not reclusive.

First Aid sits down on a large metal block and pulls an energon cube from subspace. “Here, love. Might as well fuel up while we wait.” There’s a small smile on his face. “I know you won’t let us leave until you’ve talked to them.”

I take the cube. “Not unless we really have to.”

“We’re fine.” Streetwise takes out a cube too and pings Sideswipe again. “Prowl took us both off shift for today and tomorrow. Bringing these two back is important. We owe them that much.”

 

We wait for most of the morning. It’s a slow wait – I snap back to attention every time Streetwise sends out a ping, and every time it goes without response it’s a little harder to bear. I end up in First Aid’s lap after the seventh ping, since it’s easier to snuggle up against him when he’s already cradling me. And I need the comfort right now.

I’m really scared that we’re going to have to go back empty-handed.

The tense waiting lasts until just past noon, when a voice finally, _finally_ responds to Streetwise’s ping.

::You know, you’re annoyingly persistent.::

Streetwise’s smile is the widest I’ve seen since Earth. ::Pays off in the end. Good to hear your voice, Sideswipe.::

::You’re welcome.:: His tone is dryly amused and intimately familiar. ::So to what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your visit?::

Streetwise doesn’t let the insult get to him. Not that Sideswipe sounds all too serious. ::I brought someone who’s been wanting to see you. Someone who’s missed you for a while. You kind of vanished before she could find her footing again.:: He nods at me, and I take it as my cue to say something.

::Hey, Sideswipe.::

For a moment, there’s utter silence on the channel.

::Isobel?:: It’s almost a whisper.

I fight my emotions back. ::Yeah, it’s me. I wanted to see you.:: I look up at First Aid. ::First Aid is here too.::

::Of course he is.:: Sideswipe’s voice is fond. ::Fine. Give me a minute to talk to Sunny, then come on down.::

I am so relieved I can barely manage to stand up. Streetwise has to give me a hand. He keeps hold of it as we navigate down the tricky slope, leaving First Aid to wrangle his way down behind us.

Just as we get to the canyon floor, Sideswipe walks out of the cave. He shoots me a familiar smile and holds out his arms.

I run to him.

Well. Stumble. I haven’t really gotten to running yet.

“Hey, girl,” he murmurs as he catches me. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Likewise.” I stand up on tiptoe and press a kiss to his cheek. “Can I come in?”

“Can we all come in?” First Aid says from behind me. “Sideswipe, Ratchet asked me to do a maintenance check on you. And your brother, if he’ll let me.”

“Can’t speak for Sunny. He might, once this one’s talked to him for a bit.” He winks at me. “But yeah, sure. Can’t upset the Hatchet.” He looks at Streetwise. “You might want to wait outside, though. It’s not personal –“

“- but he’s not too keen on company, and just these two is pushing it,” Streetwise finishes for him. “Yeah, I get it. It’s fine. Comm me if you need me, okay?” He pulls a crate close to the wall and drops down on the makeshift chair. “I’ll just wait here.”

“Thanks, Streets.”

Sideswipe takes my hand and leads me into the cave, with First Aid following right behind us. It’s dark at first, crunchy underfoot, and I’m tempted to turn my solitary front-light on – I would, if Sideswipe hadn’t seemed so confident in where he’s going. He never falters, following the twists and turns effortlessly.

I’m not prepared for the faint light that meets me as we round a tight corner. My optics take a moment to calibrate, leaving me effectively blinded. I take care not to let go of Sideswipe until I can see again.

“Whoa.”

“Yeah.” Sideswipe smiles proudly at me. “We actually really like it here.”

I nod. “I can see why.”

Calling this room a cave would be almost sacrilege. The walls are perfectly even, and every inch of them is decorated with abstract whorls and swirling color. Even the ceiling’s been painted. The floor on one side of the room is covered in cushions and soft materials, while the other side has three doors – actual, physical doors, not just open hallways.

This isn’t a cave. It’s a home.

“We can do the check-up in here,” Sideswipe says, looking at First Aid and nodding to the closest door. “That’s my study. Middle’s the wash rack – solvent isn’t exactly warm, but it’s at least flowing. I managed to connect it to the building above with a bit of creative tunneling. And Sunny’s study’s on the far side there.”

“It’s impressive.” First Aid opens the door to the first room. “Should we get started?”

“In a bit. I want to take Isobel in to meet Sunny first.” Sideswipe’s optics meet mine, and he’s suddenly serious. “Sunny’s hurting bad, Isobel. I just want to warn you. He’s… He’s worse than you’ve ever seen him.”

I frown. “He looked awful when I first woke up.”

“Yeah, and that was a good day.” Sideswipe sighs and takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

First Aid gives me a concerned look. I know he doesn’t want to ask if I’ll be okay, but it’s there in his optics. Not that he has anything to worry about. Sunstreaker would never hurt me, not on purpose. And I know most of his triggers by now, so I know what to avoid.

I nod at him. “It’ll be okay.”

It takes him a moment to nod back. He’s still apprehensive, it seems. “Okay. I’ll just wait in your study, Sideswipe.”

“Sounds good.” Sideswipe tugs at my hand. Together, we walk through the far door.

I’m not sure what I expected. But I know it wasn’t Sunstreaker, cowering in the far corner, obsessively running a cloth across his arm plating over and over. His optics are almost white, and I can tell from here that he’s overheating. I don’t know how Sideswipe’s managed to stay so calm when his brother’s in such a state.

“Sunny,” Sideswipe calls softly. I can tell he’s only talking out loud for my benefit. Sunstreaker’s head actually shoots up in surprise, he’s clearly not used to hearing Sideswipe’s voice anymore. “Sunny, look who’s here.”

I take that as my cue to edge out from behind him. “Hey, Sunstreaker.”

Not a glimpse of recognition in those optics.

::Doesn’t he know it’s me? I thought he’d recognize the frame?::

Sideswipe sounds confused. ::I thought he would too. But maybe he’s too stressed today.::

I take a step closer. Sideswipe doesn’t hold me back, which is a good sign, but Sunstreaker is just staring at me, unmoving. “Sunstreaker. It’s Isobel.”

That gets me a frown. It’s like he recognizes the name, but the name doesn’t match what he’s seeing.

Maybe he actually doesn’t remember this frame.

::Will I freak him out if I transform?::

::Nah. I’ve got him.::

I assume he means through their bond, since he’s still standing behind me. It’s reassuring anyway. I step back against the wall and activate my transformation cog. Then I call up my holoform.

My more familiar self, as it were.

I can tell it works on Sunstreaker too. His optics widen, mouth dropping open slightly, and then he stands up abruptly and moves away from the wall, giving himself enough room to transform. His transformation is not the smooth, elegant thing it was on Earth – it lags, here and there, parts of his frame grinding against others.

He desperately needs maintenance.

His holoform, though, is as perfect as it’s ever been. It appears right in front of me, dark-eyed, stricken, and collapses against me.

I brace against the weight of the now sobbing holoform. “Shh, sweetie. Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

Behind us, Sideswipe opens the door again and gestures towards the mound of pillows. I get the meaning, though I don’t know why he assumes we can actually scale them in these forms. There’s a blanket, though, as thick as an Earth mattress, that should do the trick.

“Come on, Sunny,” I murmur, trying to get him to move. “Come and sit down with me.”

Sideswipe watches until I’ve gotten his brother’s holoform to where I want him. Then he points at the room First Aid’s in, clearly meaning to go get his check-up done.

I nod. It’s just as well that he isn’t here right now. I’m going to need some time alone with Sunstreaker.

 

It’s an hour later when they come back out. Sunstreaker’s finally calmed down – he’s almost asleep, heavy in my lap.

I frown at the two tall robots. ::You two owe me one pit of an explanation. This is much worse than you let me believe it was.::

::I didn’t know it was this bad,:: First Aid replies. He looks as annoyed as he sounds. ::I doubt Ratchet did either, or we wouldn’t have left you alone this long.::

::It’s… I’ve tried to keep him level.:: Sideswipe sits down on a pillow, taking care not to jostle me. ::He’s got good days and bad days. Sometimes he’s almost like his old self, and sometimes I can’t even reach him over the bond.:: He looks at me intently. ::Can you help?::

::I’ll try.:: Of course I’ll try. Sunstreaker’s my brother. ::But I need to know how this happened. And how long it’s been going on.:: I frown at Sideswipe. ::You need to tell me everything.::

First Aid sits down against the wall, taking some energon cubes from his subspace and giving one to Sideswipe. It’s clear that he means to listen as well.

I keep my hand moving on Sunstreaker’s hair. He clearly needs the recharge.

::So Sunstreaker was pretty upset when we left Earth,:: Sideswipe begins with a sigh. ::I didn’t even realize how upset. We took that drive, speeding around the base all night, and I thought he’d worked most of it out of his system. But he’d just buried it down deep.::

::How didn’t you notice?:: First Aid asked, more curiosity than criticism in his voice. ::We always catch that kind of thing in each other, and you two are closer than we are.::

::We have long practice being bonded.:: Sideswipe shoots him a grin that almost looks real. ::We’ve learned how to conceal stuff from each other.:: He pops the seal on the cube. ::First, he hid it by being really focused. Training. Preparing for the fight. Then, when we actually were getting ready to go home, he let the battle lust take over.:: Sideswipe winces. ::That was probably a mistake. Because he didn’t come back from that. He almost went berserker on the drones and the rest of Shockwave’s troops, and then he didn’t calm down after we’d won either. When Ultra Magnus and Ironhide tried to get him to snap out of it, he attacked them. Landed Ultra Magnus in medbay with shattered struts, burns to his protoform and a torn-off arm.::

I try to imagine that and can’t. Ultra Magnus is as big and solid as Optimus – not someone to let himself be beaten in combat. Sunstreaker’s probably heads and shoulders shorter and barely half his mass. It’s hard to believe.

::That should have landed him in the brig,:: Sideswipe continues. ::Or whatever we could drum up that passed for it. But he was still berserking, and when Prowl and the others tried to take him down he fought them off and fled. We were actually lucky he didn’t kill anyone on our side.::

I look down at the sleeping holoform in my lap. He still doesn’t look at peace – his eyebrows are pulled together, jaw tense, hands clenched in my shirt.

I can vividly imagine him fighting for his life like that.

::I followed him, of course. Kept on his heels as he drove, day after day after day. He didn’t attack me, though the moment anyone else showed up he was all aggression. When he finally began running out of fuel, he found this tiny crevasse in the valley side and squeezed his way in there.:: Sideswipe draws a shuddering vent. ::I thought for sure that was it. There was no way I could get him out of there myself.:: He looks at me, then at First Aid. Boldly, defiantly, like he’s daring us to say he did something wrong. ::So I squeezed in there after him.::

Well. Clearly he knows that was an incredibly dumb thing to do. So I frown at him, but I don’t say anything.

::Imagine my surprise when the crevasse widened to a decent-sized cave. Sunny had just dropped down in the biggest room, out before he even hit the floor.:: Sideswipe’s optics locks on the sleeping form in my lap. ::He was exhausted. He’s still exhausted. According to Jazz, he’s running on such a high fight-or-flight response that even being awake is taxing for him. Jazz said he’d seen it before in spec ops agents.::

::I’ve seen it before in spec ops agents too,:: First Aid agrees. He gives Sideswipe a sharp look. ::I can’t believe you didn’t tell Ratchet about this.::

Sideswipe shoots an equally sharp look back. ::I told him when it happened. And then I made him promise not to tell anyone else. Anyway, I commed Prowl, told him where we were, asked him to let us stay here alone. It took a while – and a lot of arguments with Jazz and Ratchet – but in the end he agreed. On the condition that he’d be allowed to check in with me often and send someone out with supplies for us regularly. So we’re kept with energon and coolant and some polish for Sunny, and the rest is up to me.::

I look down at Sunstreaker again. He deserves to not be stuck in a cave like this, to be free and unworried. And I don’t know how to get him to realize that.

I miss my old skills so much right now, it’s almost painful.

::I don’t understand, though,:: I manage finally. ::How did this happen? Did he snap just because he left Earth? Left me?::

First Aid looks like he wants to dart over here and cuddle me flat. He manages to restrain himself physically, but I can hear the care in his voice when he speaks.

::Sunstreaker was already floundering before we even started talking about leaving Earth,:: he says softly. ::Do you remember how lost he was after we got you back from the Decepticons? And even before that, how he reacted when you didn’t speak to either of them after they accosted you?::

::I still feel guilty about that,:: Sideswipe mumbles. ::And yeah, Sunny felt even worse.:: He turns towards me, gives me an entreating look. ::You have to understand something about Sunny. He feels inadequate all the time. Like he’s not really good enough to be called an Autobot, like what’s inside him is so bad that he doesn’t deserve anything good or nice or even safe. He half expects everyone to attack him, and thinks no one would defend him, so he has to rely on himself. And it’s hard. And if he learns I told you any of this he will beat me within an inch of offlining, so I’d prefer it if you kept this to yourself.:: First Aid gets a sharp look too. ::Both of you.::

::It’s all confidential,:: First Aid murmurs. ::Isobel’s operating under that clause as well.::

::Good. So all that stuff that happened with you on Earth…:: Sideswipe sighs. ::He already felt like he was worthless. Like there was nothing good to him except the will and strength to fight. And I’ve been trying to talk him out of that mindset, but it’s hard. And when you got hurt… When we had to leave you…::

He doesn’t have to say any more. I understand. ::He blamed himself.::

Sideswipe nods. His optics are focused on the sleeping form in my lap. ::He did.::

::So…:: I stroke the dark hair gently. ::Now that I’m here, maybe he’ll snap out of it?::

::That’s what I’m hoping for too,:: Sideswipe admits. He gives Sunstreaker a worried look. ::Not that it looks good so far.::

::Don’t discount him just yet.:: First Aid’s voice is soft. ::He’s recharging, even if it’s fitful.:: He straightens away from the wall. ::Would you mind if I scanned him while he’s like this? I won’t go close, and I won’t plug in, I’ll just do a shallow scan. I’d like to know if there are any problems I need to know about.::

::Yeah, I guess.:: Sideswipe looks doubtful. I bet he’s mainly worried, though. Not about what First Aid, specifically, but he’s gotten so used to looking out for his brother now that it’s his first impulse. ::Don’t wake him.::

Got it in one. Good to know I still have something.

::I’ll try very hard not to. He needs all the recharge he can get.:: First Aid frowns down at the sleeping Sunstreaker. ::I can tell that much even without scanning him.::

::His transformation sequence was really choppy,:: I offer. ::Looked like it hurt.::

::I bet it did,:: First Aid replies darkly. ::If he’s got half the build-up in his seams that this one had…:: He points at Sideswipe with his thumb, and Sideswipe grins cheekily.

::Well, someone has to keep everything going around here. That’s dirty work.::

I let them banter, the easy talk flowing around me. Sunstreaker’s heavy and warm in my lap.

It’s enough to make me drowsy. Which isn’t a good idea at all. But I’m not used to driving as long as I did, and Sunstreaker’s a comforting weight on me, and First Aid is here…

Staying awake is getting harder by the minute.

Aid comes back out of Sunstreaker’s study wearing a grim look. ::He’s recharging, but shallowly. And there are a whole slew of problems that need fixing. I’ll have to come back when he’s cognizant, get his consent to performing repairs.:: His optics land on me, taking in my slumped position, my heavy eyelids, and he walks closer. ::You can lie down, love. We’ll be here a while yet. You can sleep.::

I’m not going to need being told twice. Not with my eyes barely open as it is. I curl around Sunstreaker’s form, settling in against the blanket mattress, and let myself drift off.

 

_Dear diary,_

_I wish there was more than one of me, so I could be several places at once. Then I’d leave one of me with Sunstreaker on a permanent basis._

_But I guess one miracle is enough for one lifetime._

_We stayed with the twins all day and well into the next. Streetwise went home to spend the night back in a bed instead of on the floor against the cliff side, which was probably a good idea. And I spent almost all the time with Sunstreaker curled up in my lap._

_He needs me so much right now. It hurt to leave._

_I’m going to set aside at least one day a week to spend with Sunstreaker. Maybe even two days, letting me spend the night. The way he cuddled against me, the way Sideswipe did as well at one point, I don’t think they’d mind._

_I’m going to need to step up my driving practice too. Can’t keep relying on Streetwise having time to escort me everywhere._

_I’m trying to tell myself we’re at least going in the right direction. And that baby steps are steps too._

_It’s just hard when I see Sunny’s desperate optics every time I close my eyes._

Pax Novum isn’t that hard to navigate. The streets are fairly logically laid out, and there aren’t too many of them either.

Despite that, it takes me three tries to find the little building Bumblebee commed me about. It turns out it’s practical to know the mechs who do the scouting – they’re the first to find the empty buildings.

And this one may just serve my purpose.

It’s small, only three stories, and situated on the outskirts of the rebuilt area, slightly away from the residential district. The building across from it is full of Neutrals, running some form of crafting shop, and down the road I can just spot Ratchet’s hospital in the distance.

The location is good. It might suit.

I’m just done looking over the first floor – two rooms that look like offices, one that looks like a reception area, a few storage closets – when a cheerful voice calls my name.

I try to brush the dust off my fingers. It doesn’t work, of course; I just end up spreading it around more, turning my pale plating grey. Since it’s not like it matters much, I just leave it.

“Hey, Cynosura! You in here?”

“Back here!” I holler back. I know the voice, and even if I didn’t, Pax Novum is supposed to be safe. Jazz would probably frown at me for being too careless, but I refuse to be afraid of the world in general. “Come on through!”

Smokescreen pops his head in through the doorway and grins at me. “You might need a receptionist if you’re going to hide away back here.”

I rub at the dust on my forearms. “I’ve been thinking to hire one. Soon as I make enough to pay them. So?” I throw out my arms to take in the full space. “What do you think of the place?”

“Needs a thorough cleaning,” he muses, looking around. “Still, it has promise. I assume it’s structurally safe?”

I nod. “I got the Constructicons to give it a once-over before I walked in here.”

“Good girl.” He flashes a smile at me. “So this is your new clinic, then?”

“I hope so.” I pick my way through the dust and debris and walk past him out into the hall. “I need to check out the other two stories before I decide.” And then I need to talk to Moonracer and Ultra Magnus, see if it’s okay that I claim the space.

“Let me come with you,” he offers. “Just in case.”

Smokescreen apparently feels the need to protect me. I’m not going to deny him that if he needs it – and anyway, it’s not like it’s a hassle to let him accompany me.

Together, we scout out the rest of the building. The second floor is more offices and a big empty space that Smokescreen says is a common room of sorts. The top floor is one large open room, with a high ceiling and large open windows.

My brain goes ‘artist studio’ instantly. Looks like I have an extra reason to entice Sunstreaker back to civilization. However long it takes.

We’re both covered in dust by the time we’re done, but I’m satisfied. I’ve found my office building – provided the administration agrees, but I don’t think I’ll have too much of a problem. They all want me working.

Smokescreen hands me an energon cube. It’s already sprinkled with something silvery and probably sweet, if I know Smokescreen right, and I accept it gratefully.

“So,” he says conversationally. “When do you think you’ll be in business?”

“As soon as possible. Just have to get the place fixed up first.” I sip at the – yep, sweet – energon. “It can’t be too soon, to be honest. There are so many people here who need the help.” I sigh. “I really wish I could remember more of the stuff I knew back on Earth. So much got lost when I got my new form.”

Smokescreen stares at me. Then he facepalms, hard enough that the clang reverberates around the room. “I am such a slagger.”

“Um. Okay?” I look at him, bemused.

“I’ve had this in my subspace for ages,” he groans, dragging his fingers down his face. “I meant to give it to you already, but it completely fled my mind.” He dips into his subspace, pulls out a clear flat box. There’s a row of data chips inside.

The label on top says ‘Earth psych’.

“Smokescreen, what is this?” My voice is low and just as unsteady as I feel. If this is what I think it is…

He shrugs, almost a bit embarrassed. “I kind of like the discipline. It fascinates me. I didn’t really have time to do anything about it before we left Earth the first time, considering Megatron in pieces and all that, so I took care to download everything when we came back to pick you up.” His finger taps against the box lid. “This is everything the internet had to offer on psychology and psychiatry. Every article. Every book. Every case study. Everything that was available online, free or not. I’ve been reading some of it, but a lot of it’s too complex for me.” He hands me the box. “I figure you might be able to make use of it.”

I feel like I’m going to cry. Or throw myself at him. Or both. “Smokescreen, this is… This is amazing.” Okay, crying it is. Giddy tears, coming right up. “This is going to help so much, you have no idea.”

“Good.” He smiles and puts his arm around my shoulders, mindful of the handle blades. “I’m glad. You’re right that there are so many who need help.”

There’s something in his tone. Like he’s fishing for something. He looks expectant too, and a bit hopeful.

It takes me a moment to get it, but when I do, it’s blindingly obvious.

“You want to learn more,” I guess. “You want to help out.”

He shrugs again, gives me an apologetic smile. “I know I don’t have any credentials. But I’d like to learn. It feels like something that’s right for me. And it would be good if it wasn’t just you who knew this stuff.”

“That’s true.” I take a moment to think it over. Smokescreen’s a good guy, even with his penchant for gambling – which also means he already knows how to read mecha. And there are sessions he can sit in on, if we get him some form of apprentice clearance…

My mind is suddenly going a million miles a minute. There are so many possibilities opening up.

“I’d need to talk to Ratchet and Ultra Magnus about it first,” I decide. “But if they agree, I’d take you on as my apprentice. I’d appreciate the extra hand with the group talks, at the very least, and then we’ll see how it goes.”

“Great!” He looks almost ecstatic, which is adorable, really. His doorwings are fluttering just like Bluestreak’s does when he’s excited about something. “That’s awesome. Thanks!”

“Thank you. Without this…” I open the box, look at the chips inside. “I’ve forgotten so much. And I was working in a fairly narrow field. If this is truly everything… You just gave me the means to help so many more mecha.”

“It should be everything. And you’re welcome.” He frowns down at my fingers, picking at one of the chips. “You can download them directly into your processor, they’re safe, but don’t do that unless you have First Aid or someone watching you. It’s a lot of information, and I don’t know your processor specs. You need to make sure you can handle the influx before you try to integrate it all.”

“Consider me warned.” I’m not much of a pro on my frame either, so having my Protectobot there – maybe both of them, even – would be good.

Besides, I’ve been meaning to drag both of them to my place to see if we can really fit three mecha on my berth.

For now, I close the box and subspace it. Then I stand up and hold out a hand for Smokescreen. “Come on. Let’s go see Ratchet and Ultra Magnus.”

He laughs as he takes my hand. “Maybe we should swing by a wash rack first? I don’t think any of them will appreciate us dragging all this dust into their impeccable domains.”

“Good idea.” I look up at Smokescreen – he’s just barely taller than me. My partner in crime, so to speak, if everything goes well. The prospect of having someone working with me is more of a relief than I had thought. “You’re going to work out fine.”

We’re both going to work out fine. And I’m going to find a way to help Sunstreaker.

It has to be on those chips somewhere.


	6. Practicing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm working on this story for camp NaNoWriMo, so I'm finally building up a buffer.
> 
> Also. Thar be smut in this chapter! Specific tags include holoform sex, double penetration in one hole, and spark sexual interfacing.

_Dear diary,_

_It’s taken a few weeks, but things are finally beginning to fall into place. My office building’s almost completely renovated. I’ve picked up a few decorations from the craft shop opposite - there’s one femme there called Threadweaver who makes the most amazing tapestries I’ve ever seen, all silk-soft metals. Gorgeous._

_Hopefully my soon-to-be clients will appreciate the bright touches as well._

_I get spending credits now, since I’m officially on the city payroll as a medical specialist. It’s not much, all things considered – comparatively less than I made on Earth – but I don’t need much. My fuel’s free, I don’t have to pay rent, so anything I earn can go to supplies and luxuries. It’s nice. Eventually, though, I really do hope to make enough money to hire someone to be at the front desk. Or to convince Ultra Magnus to hire someone. It’s exhausting, running from the back offices to the front every time someone shows up._

_Smokescreen’s apprentice position finally went through, which means I can start teaching him. Down the road, I plan for him to have the other office on the first floor. I don’t quite know what to do with the second floor offices yet, but the big room will be perfect for group sessions once I’m done fixing it up. My building is cleared for ‘non-clinical medical practices’ – and yes, that’s Ultra Magnus-speak –which means I can’t just let anyone use the space. There has to be a medical purpose, and not one that requires actual physical repairs._

_Smokescreen’s paid by the government as well, though he only gets an apprentice’s salary. It’s a good sign in every way. Not just for Smokescreen personally, though I’m glad he gets to pursue something that interests him. It’s a good sign for my practice. Because Smokey’ll be fully trained at some point, which means – maybe – that I can take on another apprentice. Maybe he can, too._

_Maybe we’ll have a full team of psychology specialists here in a few vorn. It’s not too farfetched._

_I’ve been going to see the twins twice a week. It’s a bit more often than I’d intended, and I will have to cut back to once a week once I get my practice up and running, but it’s been worth it. Sunstreaker’s finally starting to calm down some. It’s not much, but I’ll take a Sunstreaker who smiles at me and gives me a hug over a Sunstreaker who’s half terrified out of his wits any day of the week._

_I still have plans to let him use the top floor. Not by himself – I can’t do that, since the whole building is classed as medical. But I’m going to set the space aside for creative arts therapy. I don’t think Sunstreaker’s the only one who would benefit from that._

_Those chips Smokescreen gave me have been extremely helpful. First Aid helped me integrate all the information into a specialized storage section of my processor, meant to hold medical information, and helped me cordon off another compartment for patient files. That one’s gotten extra firewall protection and some form of safeguard to keep the information in there from leaking into my general cortex. It’s apparently a copy of what First Aid has._

_At least that’s what Aid said. I’ll take his word for it, since I’m still not sure how my brain works and doubt I ever will be._

_In a few days, I’m going to be listed as an available medical specialist and can begin seeing clients. Ratchet has reinstituted the referral system we used on Earth, and he assures me I won’t be idle, which frankly scares me a little. I just hope he knows what he’s doing._

_At least he seems to have faith in me._

Ratchet most definitely has faith in me. More than I do in myself. Maybe even more than I can handle.

Because my first official client is a red and black and very shiny Decepticon, standing in my new office with a resigned air and his hands cuffed in front of him. I don’t understand why he needs the cuffs – you’d think that having Ironhide standing behind him with a rifle aimed at his head would be incentive enough not to do anything stupid, even for a Stunticon.

At least Ratchet kept up his moderately informative referral notes:

_Dead End is resigned to everything. He doesn’t seem to think he has any choice in any matters, and a short lifetime of being bossed around and abused by his psychotic team leader and gestalt “brothers” as well as his superior commander hasn’t helped. Neither does being in jail, where he is only because this particular gestalt is collectively too insane to be out in public._

_This one’s just a kid, Isobel. I believe we can turn him around._

Oh yeah, maybe too much faith in me. I remember my briefing on the Stunticons.

That said, of course I’m going to give it my best. I’m just glad Ratchet started me off with one of the calmer ones.

“Welcome, Dead End.” I keep my voice friendly and neutral. “Would you like to sit down?”

He shrugs. “Not like it matters.”

“Sit down, kid,” Ironhide says gruffly.

I nod towards the cuffs as Dead End sits, give Ironhide that look that Groove says is my I-am-in-charge-here look. “How necessary are those?”

“Mandatory, if he’s going to spend time outside of his cell.” Ironhide doesn’t sound like he’s going to budge on that. “He’s had his weapons disabled, his subspace cleared, but he’ll still be cuffed.” Looking down at the young ‘Con in the chair, he seems to relent somewhat. “I don’t think he’ll give any trouble. He’s not as bad as some of the others.”

Dead End doesn’t seem to care that we’re talking about him like he’s not there. Maybe he’s used to that kind of behavior.

That’s no reason to keep doing it, though. Time to get rid of the chaperone. “In that case, Ironhide, thank you for escorting him. Please wait outside.”

The stare I get tells me more than I need to know about Ironhide’s opinion of my mental state, but this is something that I refuse to budge on. I won’t have a guard monitoring our session.

He gets it, at least. It’s not like he’s got a lot of choice. “Fine. Comm me when you need me to pick him up. I’ll be in the front room.”

After Ironhide has left, there’s silence. Dead End doesn’t say anything, just stares down at his own knees.

He really is very shiny.

“Would you tell me a little about yourself?” I try. I need him to talk if this is in any way going to work. Of course, he could do a Sunstreaker and spend all session in smirking silence, but that doesn’t quite seem like Dead End’s style.

Not that I’m all too sure what his style is yet. I’m hoping I’ll find out.

He shrugs again. It’s not a dismissive gesture, not from him, it’s more like… Like ‘whatever, I don’t care’. Which is probably the picture he’s trying to show, but I’ll bet it’s not the truth. “Not much to tell. Stunticon. Arm. Current residence, Pax Novum detention facility.”

Not much to work with. “Do you share your cell with any of the other Stunticons?”

He gives me a wry look. “Right. Because that would end well. No, we’re all in individual cells, in a row one after the other. It took them some time to figure out the order, too.”

“So who’s next to you?”

“Wildrider on the right.” Another impassive shrug, a look out the window. “Breakdown in the end cell on my left. Motormaster’s way down on the other end.” So Drag Strip’s next to Motormaster, then. I wonder how that works out.

Maybe I should visit the cells, see for myself. I’m sure if I ask Ratchet and Prowl they’ll make psych evaluation a condition of their eventual release, which will let me in to see them even in their cells. Whether they want to or not.

“And that works out well?”

“Well enough.”

I have my work cut out for me with this one. Maybe a different approach will help.

I look at his plating again. He preens slightly when he notices.

I gesture towards his frame. “So tell me about your self-care routine. How do you manage to stay that immaculate in a cell?”

That brightens him up a bit. He starts talking, explaining the differences between various types of wax and cloth and techniques. Every now and then, a detail about one of his brothers slip out. It’s more illuminating than he probably realizes.

I let him talk about waxes and polishes for most of the session. When time’s nearly up, I interrupt him gently.

“Thank you for telling me about this. Would you answer a question for me?”

“Sure. Not like it’s going to make a difference.”

That’s a positive connotation, though, before he tries to bury it. I think Ratchet’s right, we probably can turn this one around.

“Why do you keep this routine?”

He snorts. “Yeah, it doesn’t mean anything in the long run, does it? But I figure, if everything’s going up Unicron’s rusty tailpipe anyway, I might as well look good doing it.”

I try a smile. “Unicron’s rusty tailpipe? That Wildrider rubbing off on you?”

“Probably.” He almost smiles back. “His brand of crazy will rub off on everyone in the end.”

“I guess we’ll see. And our time is almost up.” I stand and hold out my hand. He stares at it, like he doesn’t know quite how to react, but soon he stands up too and reach out to clasp my wrist. He has to raise both hands to do it, because of the cuffs.

Progress.

I smile at him. “I’ll see you next week.”

 

I groan into the berth pad as Groove’s strong fingers rub at the tense cables in my back. My shoulder blades are trembling.

“Tough first week?” His voice is soft, soothing.

“You can say that.” I vent heavily as he moves down to my lower back. “Ratchet apparently believes in baptisms of fire.” I’ve only had three days of sessions, and after starting me off with Dead End Ratchet somehow managed to squeeze in three Neutrals, a couple of the Autobots that were part of Ultra Magnus’ contingent, house calls – well, office calls – to both Prowl _and_ Red Alert, and Bluestreak. A much happier Bluestreak, thankfully. He’s found some way to cope, though he didn’t tell me too many details. We spent most of our session catching up and hugging.

He’s matured, since I saw him last. Matured, and settled somehow.

Bluestreak as my last session was a nice end to the work week, but I still feel like I’ve been put through the wringer.

Groove chuckles lightly. “You can do it. I have faith in you.”

“Mm.” I dim my optics again, surrendering to the massage.

I’m almost asleep when the door slides open. “Hey, you two.”

“Hey, Aid. Long day?” Even greeting his brother, Groove doesn’t pause in his ministrations.

“Longer than I like. Turns out, avian cassettes and rusty wiring are a bad match.”

“Avian cassettes?” I turn enough to look up at him. “Laserbeak okay?”

“It was Ratbat, actually.” First Aid caresses my cheek. “And he’ll be fine. I left him with his family. He’s still just a baby and doesn’t have the reflexes to dodge when something collapses. I’ve recommended to Soundwave that he be given other duties, and that the demolition scouting should be left to Laserbeak and Buzzsaw.”

“Poor Ratbat.” I lean into the touch. “And I’m sorry you’re tired. Though I am glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Groove agrees. “Do you know, we haven’t had time together, all three of us, for weeks?”

First Aid nods. “I know. That’s why I’ve secured us both a few days off, to match up with Isobel’s off-shifts.”

I turn around fully then. This sounds promising. “Oh, really? When?”

Aid’s grin is almost feral. “Starting right now.” He takes my hand. “I got a vidfile from Earth that you haven’t seen. Apparently, Soundwave’s been keeping tabs on Earth, and Rumble and Frenzy teamed up with Rewind and Eject to download as much entertainment as possible. They want to broadcast it here. I got this one as thanks for fixing up Ratbat. And I went by the café and got candies.” He pulls out said candies with a flourish he must have learned from Jazz or someone. “Ready for date night?”

I squeal and make grabby hands at the treats. “Yes, please. Beyond ready.”

Groove laughs as he steals a treat out of Aid’s hand and pops it into his mouth. “I’ll go set up the entertainment console.”

 

I’m curled up on my new couch, Groove on one side of me and First Aid on the other, watching familiar superheroes darting across the screen in front of ever more improbable explosions.

“It might be a bit sentimental of me, but I’m really glad Marvel’s still in business.”

I haven’t gotten to read up on my Earth history. I’m not sure I want to know all of what went on while I was gone. I’m a bit scared that it’s all gone to Pit somehow. And I might be even more scared that nothing’s changed.

At least the movie’s reassuringly familiar, despite the fact that I’ve never seen it before. Minus a few technological advances and some fancy buildings I’ve never seen before, a lot is the same as it was.

“I don’t think the humans would give up on their fantastic imaginations, no matter what happened,” Groove says softly. “That’s part of what I really liked about them.”

His hand is stroking gently, softly over my arm. I lean into the touch. First Aid, already leaning on me, ends up even further onto my lap. He’s heavy, but it’s kind of comfortable.

On screen, what had been a heated, angry argument ends abruptly as Tony Stark’s mask suddenly lifts and he tackles Captain America in the kind of kiss that’s part aggressive assault.

I giggle. “They’ve made some progress on that front, at least. Openly gay superheroes on the big screen!”

“I never understood why your species was so rigidly gendered,” First Aid muses. “I mean, I understand it. The biology of it makes sense. But I don’t _understand_ it. There were so many opinions and mad comments, so much cruelty and bigotry. It’s easier here.”

I nod emphatically. “Anyone can love anyone, and it works. I agree with you.”

Groove’s hand is on my stomach now, teasing the cables. It’s enough to send tingles of warmth through me, the heat focusing deep inside me.

On the screen, Cap lets out a moan that would have earned the movie an R-rating a hundred years ago.

“You know,” Groove says suddenly. His face is so close to my audial that I can feel his lips moving. “There’s something Aid got to try that I never did.”

First Aid twists in my lap and looks across to his brother. “You can still try that. If she wants.”

His voice has deepened to something that sends even more heat flooding my internals. Just the tone is enough for my fans to kick on.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you don’t include me I’ll just leave you to it and enjoy this unexpected superhero smut myself.” I try to keep my tone even, but the heat’s affected my vocalizer and I sound just as husky as Aid did. Dammit.

Groove’s hands are suddenly roaming all over me, intent clear. “Oh, we’ll include you.” His tone would have given Earth me goosebumps all over. Then he moves away, standing up and putting some distance between himself and the couch before transforming. Suddenly the long-haired holoform stands there, pale jeans riding low on his hips, white short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned over his bare chest and stomach.

I can see a hint of golden hair tracing from his navel down under the lining of his jeans.

He holds out a hand. “Join me?” he asks simply.

I’m off the couch before I’ve even decided to move. “Oh, _Pit_ yes.”

“What about me, dear brother?” The words may make it seem as though First Aid’s offended, but I recognize that tone. That’s the teasing, flirty First Aid, the one no one else gets to see. “Don’t I get to join you?”

“You may,” Groove allows graciously. He’s smiling at me, and it’s not his usual kind expression. There’s something almost predatory in it.

Suddenly there’s another warm body at my back, pressing me forward against Groove’s bare torso. First Aid mouths my shoulder, pulling the straps of my top aside slowly.

It’s a strange echo of the first time they both cornered me after I woke up on Cybertron. Though in a much more familiar setting. Skin to skin, I’m an old hand with.

“Who knew I had to turn into an alien before I got to have this particular human experience,” I joke, as I finally run my fingers across Groove’s chest. “Three of us together, I mean.”

“You could have had this on Earth.” Groove’s voice is husky. “If you’d paid attention. And if I’d been more daring.”

“I know,” I breathe, and that’s all I have time for before his lips are on mine.

Time kind of fades away, there, as I’m caught between my two Protectobots. I can’t tell whose hands are whose, whose fingers it is that pull my shirt up and off, that tease open the buttons of my jeans and slide it down over my hips. When I try to reciprocate, their clothes melt away in my hands.

“Going to be so embarrassing if I end up vanishing like that,” I murmur against someone’s lips.

“Then don’t,” Groove replies, somehow behind me now. He licks up my neck, and I almost melt in their arms. “Come on, Belle. Berth.”

“We can’t get onto the berth in these forms,” First Aid disagrees, nipping at my chin.

“True. Come on, Belle. Blanket on the floor.”

I’m not hard to ask. At all. Not with both of them still teasing me with their mouths and their fingers, their clothing slipping away blue spark after blue spark and mine being tugged off by hands and teeth before dissolving on its way to the floor.

I’m putty in their hands.

It’s Groove sliding into me first, slowly, gently, like he’s afraid he’s going to harm me if he goes too fast. His eyes are locked on my face, awestruck, drinking in every expression. First Aid is lying behind me, cradling me against his front, mouth still working on my shoulder, hands seeking out all the places he knows I like to be touched.

My holoform body reacts just like my old body did.

Groove groans, forehead resting against my clavicle, and First Aid’s clever fingers have me arching into Groove’s touch. It’s bordering on too much already, my legs are trembling where they’re locked around Groove’s waist, and he’s hot and heavy above me, mouthing at my throat and thrusting, thrusting. At my back, First Aid is panting almost as hard as I am.

It’s almost bliss, almost perfect, almost, almost, _almost there_ –

“You know, love… The holoform’s adaptable. I bet you can do stuff you never thought you could do.”

_Damn it_ , First Aid. I was _so close._

I let my irritation color my voice. Groove’s gone still on top of me, inside me. “Really, First Aid? _Now_ ’s a good time to experiment?”

He chuckles at me, the slagger. “Now’s the best time to experiment, love. What better occasion could you ask for to find out if you could take both of us at once?”

My eyes widen. “Both of you at _once_?”

“Oh, I like that,” Groove breathes. He pulls out partway, nuzzles at my chin. “What do you think, Belle? Care to try?”

I’m apprehensive, I admit it. It sounds like something that could easily hurt.

But I trust these two. And if First Aid says the holoform will adapt, then it probably will. I hope.

I nod. “Okay. Let’s try.”

“That’s my girl.” He pulls the rest of the way out and moves off me. “Sit up, Belle, and turn around.”

I follow his directions, let him move me. Place my knees on either side of First Aid’s hips. My hands on First Aid’s shoulders. Groove pushes gently at my shoulders until I lean forward, hips canted, and can sink down onto First Aid.

My Protectobot is gorgeous, eyes half lidded, teeth pressing into his lower lip.

“Good,” Groove purrs from behind me. His hands are warm on my upper back. “Now lean forward a little more for me.”

First Aid lays back completely on the blanket and puts his arms around me, pulling me close. I’m flush against his chest, close enough that I can feel his heartbeat.

“Now I need you to relax, Belle,” Groove murmurs. He’s close enough behind me that I can feel the heat he’s giving off, but he’s not touching. Not yet. “Relax for me.”

I do my best, but even so I tense up when his fingers touch me. Groove croons, stroking my back with one hand, relaxing me enough that his fingers can slip inside, one by one.

It’s not painful. That helps me relax even more, until I’m a puddle on First Aid’s chest again.

Then there’s pressure against me, pushing up against me and First Aid both, as Groove slowly, slowly glides inside.

It’s excruciating, but in a good way. I forget to breathe for a moment, forget where I am. All I’m aware of is that exquisite pressure, the fullness, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.

It seems to take forever before Groove’s all the way inside. I feel impaled, almost, like there’s no way they should both fit, but there’s no pain. Just the sensation of just-this-side-of-too-much, of two hot pulses against mine, of being sheltered and cradled between both my Protectobots, stuck in the best way in the heat and the touch and the connection.

Then Groove begins to move, pulling out partly and thrusting back in, slowly, surely. First Aid moans underneath me, hands tightening on my hips, as he begins thrusting too, counterpoint to his brother but keeping the same rhythm.

I can’t move. My muscles aren’t working. It’s all I can do to hold on to First Aid, keening, as I’m repeatedly filled in the best way imaginable.

It doesn’t last long. And at the same time, it’s neverending.

Groove tips over the edge first, groaning against my neck, lips and teeth pressing down on me. He’s heavy for a moment, his weight pushing me down onto First Aid, and Aid grunts as his thrusts grow erratic.

When he goes over, I do as well. And I collapse against him, completely spent, completely sated.

For a few minutes, all we can do is lie still. Then Groove chuckles and slips sideways off of us. “Well. That was fun.”

I groan. “Not moving.” It’s bad enough that Groove’s pulled out, that Aid’s softening inside me. I don’t want this to end, I just want to stay connected to them forever.

… I want to stay connected to them forever.

The thought is new, and slightly terrifying, and I bury it deep to be examined again in daylight. I’ve learned enough from Ratchet and Optimus to know that it’s not a decision made lightly.

But there is something we can try that’s up the same alley.

“Hey, Aid? Now that you’re here.”

He hums at that, gives me a lazy smile and chuckling a bit at my choice of words, because he’s quite obviously here. “What’s on your mind?”

I manage to move my head just enough that I can see both of them at the same time. “Groove said something. That there was something we could try when you were here too.”

I can tell when Groove understands what I mean. His smile brightens.

First Aid though, is still oblivious. He lifts a shaky hand and pushes my hair back. “Yeah? What was that, love?”

Groove catches my hand and kisses it. “She means sparks, Aid.”

First Aid’s face morphs from blissful to contemplative. “Give me a moment to check something.”

He pushes me off himself, gently, then vanishes. I’m instantly cold, weird as it is that a holoform would feel cold, and roll over to lie against Groove. Behind us, First Aid transforms and stands up.

“I think he’s checking your medical files,” Groove whispers quietly.

I’m simultaneously annoyed and amused. I hope he’s not comming Ratchet to ask if he can please merge with me. That would be beyond weird.

Whatever he’s checking, it doesn’t take long. When he turns back to us, he’s smiling.

“You file confirms that you have an inhibitor installed. So we can definitely merge, if that’s what you want.” The smile turns shy.

I turn to Groove again, whispering into his ear. “What’s an inhibitor?”

“A contraceptive,” he whispers back. “Just in case.”

Right. I’d forgotten about the whole baby robots aspect. I forcefully forget about it again, pushing it way down with that other thought to be examined another time.

First Aid still stands there, looking hopeful.

Groove chuckles. “If we’re doing this, we should definitely move to the berth.”

I pout. Moving doesn’t tempt me.

… But the prospect of merging does.

“Oh, all right.” I follow Groove’s example and dismiss my holoform. It’s a bit disorienting, being my metal self again, and I hold on to First Aid as I stand up.

Scratch that. I mold myself to him. I’m suddenly too cold and too… not recently fucked.

It’s weird.

First Aid just smiles, though, as he does, arms encircling me and holding me tight. The smile turns to a grin, and he bends slightly. I have just enough time to wonder what he’s got planned before he sweeps me off my feet. Literally.

Medics are freakishly strong.

“Be~erth,” Groove singsongs, and by the sound of it he’s already in my berthroom.

Our berthroom, maybe. Eventually.

The list of thoughts needing more mulling over later is growing long.

First Aid carries me easily through the doorway and deposits me on the berth. Groove’s already there, reclined on his back, showing off gaping seams and hot angles.

My Protectobots are both gorgeous.

I’m suddenly nervous, though. This is something I have no experience with. For all that I don’t know much about my spark, I know it’s hidden behind thick plating for a reason. It’s clearly not meant to be on display. And now I’m about to show it off and merge it to two others’.

It’s a good thing that I trust these two with my life already.

“So how do we do this?” Thanks, voice, for sounding more steady than I feel.

“You on top, I think,” First Aid replies. “Your back kibble might get in the way, otherwise. Then me and Groove will be the other points in the triangle.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.” It’s not quite an accusation, but it’s not quite not one either. Sue me for being a bit self-conscious about this.

“Not three-way merges,” Groove replied. “But five-way, we’ve done a few of.”

Their brothers. Right. That’s reassuring – and making me feel a little stupid.

“It’s not something we do often.” First Aid’s frame is warm against my back. “But sometimes. When someone’s been critically injured or something, it’s…”

“Soothing,” Groove finishes for him.

“So it’s not romantic.” I aim for nonchalant, but even I can tell that I miss.

“It can be. It can also be about just affection, and of course, it can be intensely passionate.” Groove’s grin turns roguish. “Depending on the mecha involved.”

First Aid lies down and tugs at my hand. “Come on. Let’s show you.”

Somehow, we slot together almost perfectly. First Aid and Groove are shoulder to shoulder, supporting me above and between them with all our legs tangled together. We’re forehead to forehead.

I don’t think we could be closer together if we tried.

But then Groove’s chest plating begins to slide apart, the narrow crack down the center of his chest widening to let pale teal sparklight flow out, and I know I was wrong. We’re not close enough at all yet.

First Aid follows suit, his own sky blue blending with the teal, and then it’s my turn.

If I can find the slagging code string. I know it’s there somewhere, it’s one of the ones Ratchet quizzed me on.

There.

The green light dances across their white plating, melding with theirs until we’re all lit by this blue-green glow, and I don’t know what to do next.

I can see Groove’s spark, little tendrils and flares arching out from it, almost like his spark is reaching for the other two. First Aid’s just as eager, blue light pulsing out of his chest, beckoning.

My spark is hiding. There is no reaching, no small green flares, no pulsing.

I don’t know what to do.

Thankfully, as always, my Protectobots’ve got me. Groove lifts his chin slightly until he can reach my lips, nipping and sucking at me and enticing me down until I’m flat against them, the light smothered between our frames. First Aid nuzzles my cheek, his free hand stroking my back. “Don’t be afraid, love. It’s your first time, it’s okay.”

This close, I can feel the heat, the thrumming of their sparks underneath me. I rest my head between theirs, pillowed on their shoulders, and try to relax.

I can feel it when it happens. It’s a small jolt, a zap, and suddenly my spark surges forward to meet theirs. The flares intertwine, green mixed with teal mixed with blue, and then we’re not three entities anymore.

We’re one.

I can feel them inside me. Not like earlier, not physically, more like… More like I’ve breathed them in, somehow, like they’re _inside_ me.

I can feel First Aid, his care and love and how much I mean to him and I just want to keep him like this forever, forever a part of him inside me, never to be let go. And I can feel Groove, his trust and devotion and this pure, pure affection, my strength in the storm, the one we both lean on. And I can feel that they feel each other, absorb each other with ease born of long familiarity, effortlessly bringing me into it as well.

I’m caught in a wave of energy that slowly, slowly crests, and it’s all I’ve ever dreamed of and all I could ever want and I never want it to end, not ever.

I’m drowning, cradled, sheltered, and I’m never letting go. Never being let go. Never.

The intensity fades slowly, until the feel of them is faint-almost-gone, and I mourn the loss every step of the way. I become aware of my overheating frame, still cradled between them, the labored venting not enough to cool me down.

And I’m apparently crying.

Groove’s fingers are on my cheek, stroking and soothing, and First Aid’s lips are soft against my forehead. It’s comforting, the physical touch, because I feel as if I’ve lost them even though they’re right there in front of me. They were just with me, and now they’re so far away. I can barely take it.

“Shh,” Groove sooths. “It’s okay, Belle. First time’s always intense.”

I’m shivering, I notice, trembling in their arms, and First Aid’s arm is a reassuring weight on my back. He shifts aside, letting me slide fully down on the berth next to him, and Groove moves to slot himself between my blades and cuddle in against my back.

It helps, but not completely. They’re still too far away, still not inside me anymore, and I can’t stop the shaking and crying, quiet though it is. Not until First Aid somehow manages to pull a blanket over all three of us, tucking me in between both their frames, close enough that my plating’s protesting but still not close enough for my spark.

Then he begins humming.

It’s a familiar melody, almost haunting at this point – a basic lullaby learned on Earth and crooned to a terrified, injured woman who was too traumatized to sleep. It sooths me now as it did then, and gradually, I relax in their arms. Groove’s warm behind me, nuzzling my neck, and First Aid’s warm and comforting in front of me. The shaking eases. The tears dry up.

I slip into recharge like that, sheltered and cradled between them.


	7. The other faction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bluestreak and Skywarp's story can be read in [My trust in your hands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842166/chapters/42102104).

I’m light, almost floating, as I make my way down to my office. First Aid and Groove didn’t let me go until we’d repeated our recent experience with sparks once more, and this time I handled it much better.

I think I’m getting addicted. Not just to the merging, but to them.

For once I’ve managed to secure the first appointment time of the day for myself – officially to put my notes into order, but unofficially to mull over a few things that need closer consideration.

Personal things. Relationship things.

If there’s anything my recent experience with spark merging has shown me, it’s that I want those two with me forever. And I’m pretty sure it’s reciprocated.

I don’t get very far in my planned rumination, though. I’ve barely managed to unlock the door to my office when there’s a strange noise from the front room and someone calling my name.

Again, it’s a someone I know. Though not a someone I’d expected to hear from today.

“Bluestreak?” I walk back into the front room, and sure, it’s Bluestreak, Skywarp hanging off his arm and looking more than a little dizzy.

“Hey, Skywarp.” I look over at him in concern. “Are you okay? You know I don’t do actual physical repairs.”

“I’m okay. Just tired. Could do with a cube, if you have any.” He giggles again and drops gracelessly into one of the chairs. “Primus! It’s been ages since last time I warped that many times in a row.”

Well, I can do that at least. There’s a small energon dispenser behind the front desk.

“We could have walked,” Bluestreak chastises, but there’s fond amusement in his tone. “Or flown, even.”

Skywarp shrugs, his wings trembling. “So I’m eager. Not the worst flaw in the world.”

Bluestreak smiles down at him, and I get the feeling I’m intruding on something intensely private. Even though they’re the ones who’re in my psych center, kind of intruding on me.

I hand Skywarp the cube. “So what can I help you with? I don’t think the two of you need couples’ counseling.”

Bluestreak smirks at me and Skywarp laughs out loud. “No, we’re good.”

I know they are. Bluestreak told me all about it last week. And I’m thrilled they found something that worked for them. It’s obvious to anyone that they’re both better than they were.

“We’re on a delivery round,” Bluestreak announces. He pulls a stack of thin metal plates from his subspace with a grand gesture, fanning them out in a display. It looks like he learned from Smokescreen, I’ve seen him do the same with playing cards back on Earth. “Must get all these delivered as soon as possible.”

“We went to your place, but Groove was the only one there,” Skywarp supplies. “So he got his, and then we went by the medbay to get First Aid and Ratchet and the rest of them out of the way, and now we’re here.”

“Okay,” I nod. “So what are those things?”

Bluestreak smile could have powered Cybertron. “They’re bonding ceremony invitations. Ours, to be specific.”

I sit down so fast it almost qualifies as a fall. I’m just lucky there was actually a chair there. “ _Really?_ ”

“Really really.” Skywarp smiles up at his lover – mate, apparently, soon. “I finally asked. He said yes. And now we’re making it official.”

I’m back out of the chair, my arms around Bluestreak’s neck before I’ve decided to move. “CONGRATULATIONS! Oh my gods, you two, that’s amazing!” Skywarp gets his hug too, never mind that I’ve never actually hugged a Decepticon before unless you count Laserbeak, and she’s so tiny it’s more like cradling than hugging. Skywarp hugs back, laughing, and only lets go when I’m almost falling over into his lap.

And now I’m crying again. Primus.

“I’m so happy for you two!” And yeah, that’s a squeal, but I don’t care. This is the happiest news I’ve gotten since… I can’t even remember.

Bluestreak smiles at me. He looks exuberant, like there’s so much happiness inside him he’s almost overflowing. I’ve never seen him like this before. “Thanks, Isobel.”

He puts the stack of metal invitations down on the desk and spreads them out. They’re all shiny, soft-looking for all that they’re metal, and covered in intricate Cybertronian glyphs.

Except one that’s in English. I can pick up both my names on it.

Bluestreak makes a grand ceremony out of extracting that one invitation and handing it to me. He’s still smiling. “We hope you’ll come.”

“Of course I’ll be there.” Like there’s even a remote chance I won’t. I don’t even care when it is, I’ll be there. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

And besides, a tiny voice in my mind adds, it’ll be an excellent research opportunity for those thoughts I haven’t examined too closely yet.

I ignore the voice in favor of beaming at the happy couple in my front office. “You know, I really am happy for you. I know I said that already, but I need you to know I mean it.” Call me sappy, but I reach out and take their hands, one in each of mine. “I am so glad you two found happiness again. And extra glad you did it together.”

Bluestreak blushes, bless him. Skywarp just smiles and uses my grip to tug himself back on his feet. “Thanks. Now, don’t mean to rush off, but we have like fifty of these still to hand out.” He takes Bluestreak’s other hand. “Warp again, babe?”

“No.” Bluestreak looks almost shy, all flushed and biting his lip. “No, let’s fly.”

I gather the invitations in a tidy bunch, making sure I still have my own, and hand them to him. “Have a nice flight!”

“Bye, Cynosura!” Skywarp waves and tugs his lover out the door. “See you!”

I can hear Bluestreak’s laughter over the sound of Skywarp’s transformation. It’s really not spying to stand in the window, watching as Skywarp soars up with Bluestreak’s form clinging to his back.

It is so good to see them happy.

I look down at the invite in my hand. It lists a time and a place and the occasion, nothing more. I guess I’d better ask Groove and First Aid how bondings are celebrated. I don’t know if presents are traditional here too.

Well, even if they aren’t, I’m getting them one. Not that I know what to buy. I guess I can ask Thundercracker; as Skywarp’s brother, he’s probably the best one to know.

Skywarp’s brother.

It hits me then, what would be the best possible wedding present. Ratchet told me that Starscream is still incarcerated, for his own protection. He’s still lost in his own mind, sometimes energetically living in the past, sometimes almost catatonic.

I put my invitation into subspace decisively. I need to consult my calendar.

It’s time to start working with Starscream.

 

_Dear diary,_

_I spent most of this morning’s empty session on the comm with Thundercracker. I’d like to be a little forewarned on what I’m getting into. Especially on such a complicated case._

_Not that Thundercracker gave me all the details. He’d give me enough to help, he said, but a lot of it wasn’t his to give. That’s okay. I needed enough to get started, and then hopefully Starscream will let me know what we need to work on._

_Thundercracker did tell me enough to know that this is a mess of a mech I’ll be treating. Starscream is still locked up, under supervision day and night. He fluctuates between aggression and catatonia, between past and present, and he often doesn’t recognize his surroundings – he’ll make sense of whoever’s there to visit him, but not why, and he doesn’t believe he is where they say he is. He doesn’t remember what happened to Megatron. Based on all of it, I suspect there’s a dissociative disorder there at the very least, connected to the PTSD. But I need to see him to figure it out._

_It may be the most complex case I’ve ever undertaken. Hopefully I’m up to it._

 

It’s Silverbolt who takes me out to where Starscream is held. Thundercracker’s ahead of us somewhere, getting ready to meet us when we arrive. He won’t let me see Starscream without his supervision yet – not for Starscream’s safety, but for mine.

I guess it’s all the reminder I need that I’m dealing with someone who’s not only mentally imbalanced, but also insanely dangerous.

It’s not that new to me. I’ve worked with soldiers all my career, though not often as volatile as this one. Hopefully he’s in a good mood today.

We land at a facility fairly far away from Pax Novum, on the opposite end of the hustle and bustle of the landing strip that doubles as a space port. It’s much quieter out here, almost peaceful. At least if I disregard the ruins and dust and pieces of metal that I really don’t want to look to closely at.

From the looks of it, someone did try at one point to clean up the walls of the building in front of us. But the scorch masks and shrapnel scars are still visible.

Thundercracker’s roaring engines are almost deafening at close range, and I dial down my audials as he lands. Thanks, Jazz, for showing me that trick. Thundercracker transforms from blue jet to gorgeous root mode before he’s even still, and he doesn’t look happy. If anything, he looks kind of nervous.

“Thanks for bringing her,” he offers to Silverbolt. “I know you had other things to do today.”

“I’m doing a favor for my friends,” Silverbolt says firmly. I don’t miss the plural. “Hot Spot understands.” He reaches out, puts a hand on Thundercracker’s shoulder. “Good luck, buddy.”

Thundercracker nods and steps back. The large door behind him slides open. “Come on, then.”

I wave at the departing Silverbolt, then follow Thundercracker into the dark hallway. After only a dozen steps it changes, dark, matted walls turning white and clinically clean, bright lights illuminating the space.

At the end of the hall, it opens into another room. There are no other doors.

“This entire building was rebuilt for his use,” Thundercracker explains. “There’s the monitor room, a break room for the guards, and his space. That’s it. We take him flying once a week or so, mostly me or Skywarp and then either the Coneheads or the Rainmakers. Sometimes Skyfire or Blast Off – they’re not as fast as him, but they can break atmosphere. And Hook is on call. He should be here waiting for us.”

While he’s talking, we’ve entered the room at the end of the hallway. One wall is all screens, each one showing a glimpse of the apartment on the other side of the wall. Every now and again one of the screens flicker, switching to another view. The other wall has a large one-way window, currently dark. There are also two large monitors, bordering the open doorway to a room with couches and an energon dispenser.

There’s a guard sitting at each of the monitors. To my surprise, I realize that I know one of them.

“ _Cliffjumper_?”

He flashes me a grin. “Hey, Earthling. Fancy meeting you here.”

“I can say the same thing! I thought you didn’t…” There’s no easy way to say it. “… like Decepticons much.”

“I didn’t.” He waves a hand, the gesture somehow encompassing both Thundercracker and the bright green seeker at the other monitor. “But it’s not that simple anymore. I’ve worked so much with most of these guys by now, I practically know their recharge patterns. So I figure we’re all on our way to becoming Neutral anyway. Only exception,” he spins on his chair so he faces the window, “is the one in there. So that’s why I’m here, watching him. He’s the only true Decepticon left.”

“Not on purpose,” Thundercracker says quietly.

Cliffjumper nods in agreement. “I know. Which I figure is why you’re here.” He looks up at me.

“Yes. Hopefully I’ll be able to help.”

Thundercracker looks towards the large window. “How is he today?”

The green seeker pushes a few buttons. “Have a look.”

The window slowly turns from black to opaque to clear. I take a step closer curiously.

On the other side, there’s a large bright space. One wall is entirely glass, and the others are white, reflecting the light. I can see a few low-backed couches, a vidscreen. A whole wall of shelves, each stacked full of datapads. There’s a door at the end with hazard signs on it, and something that looks like a berth room opposite it.

And there’s Starscream.

He looks just like the images I remember. Still handsome, still haughty and arrogant. He’s pacing back and forth, gesticulating and sneering. I wonder for a moment if he’s having an episode, but then I notice Hook. The Constructicon is standing quietly against the wall, looking down at a datapad in his hand and aiming a scanner at Starscream’s moving form.

“He’s in fine form today,” the green seeker says, coming up to stand next to me. “Want to hear? I’m Acid Storm, by the way. Rainmaker trine.”

I clasp his offered forearm. “Cynosura. Nice to meet you. And yeah, I’d like to hear what he’s saying, if that’s possible.”

Both Thundercracker and Skywarp signed the form allowing me full treatment of Starscream. Which is good, because judging from what I hear, he wouldn’t – and couldn’t - have consented to anything.

“… simply appalling quality,” he rants. “I don’t know where Megatron found these dregs, it’s the worst substance I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with. Are you finished yet?” The tone is snappish, mean. “My work is too important to be put on hold just because my imbecilic so-called leader requires more information!” He aims a kick at Hook, but it doesn’t connect.

“Does he actually work?” I ask quietly.

“There’s a lab behind that locked door,” Acid Storm replies, pointing. “He works several hours a day. We don’t give him anything dangerous, but he’s still a brilliant mech, and he’s making real progress in there. I think, right now, he’s working on some form of energon refinement.”

“He wants to clean up the refinement process, so we can refine faster and with less impurities,” Cliffjumper puts in. He’s still focused on his monitor. “He’s doing good, too.”

“I’m glad you let him work. Not just because he’s actually making scientific progress, but because it’s good for him.” I watch the pacing seeker carefully. “He needs that connection to the real world.”

“Ready to go inside?” Thundercracker looks at me anxiously. I suddenly realize that he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, now that I’ve seen what kind of state Starscream is in.

Fat chance. I want to _help_.

“Yeah. Let’s go inside.”

“Good.” He looks so relieved, it’s like he’s almost a younger mech suddenly. “I’m just going to introduce you as another medic, okay?”

“Whatever you think is fine for now,” I agree. I don’t want to put Starscream on edge.

I follow Thundercracker through the monitor room into the break room. It’s got the couches I noticed, but the room is much bigger than it looked. And the rows of rifles and other weapons along the back wall had definitely not been visible from the monitor room.

There are two more seekers in here as well. The look up as we enter, and though they’re quick to settle again when they see Thundercracker they tense slightly at the sight of me.

“Nova Storm, Ion Storm, this is Cynosura,” Thundercracker introduces. “Cynosura, meet the rest of the Rainmaker trine.”

I clasp forearms with them. “Hello.”

The bright blue seeker, Ion Storm, nods towards a heavy door at the end of the room. “Go on in. He’s in a fine mood today.”

“So I heard.” I offer him a smile and get a tentative smile back.

So. Not hostile. Just careful. That’s good.

Thundercracker enters the key on the code pad, and the door opens. Behind it, there’s a smaller room with another keypad.

I glance at Ion Storm and gets another of those small smiles. “It’s in case he finds the door and hacks the keypad. Not very likely, but we don’t want to take any chances.” He looks past me, towards where I bet Starscream is. “He wouldn’t be safe out there.”

There’s something in his tone. “You still respect him.”

“He’s our leader. Our Winglord. He will have our allegiance until he perishes or is proven unworthy of it.” He smiles again. “And now, he needs our protection.”

They clearly care about him. Though I have to admit that, considering all the crazy things I’ve heard about Starscream, I do wonder what it would take for him to be proven unworthy of leadership.

Thundercracker is still holding the door for me. “Coming?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” I smile at the two seekers in the break room and follow him through. The door slides shut behind me, and Thundercracker puts in the code for the second lock.

I’m a bit nervous at this point. Starscream is just a door away.

Well. Two doors, it turns out. Because behind the door Thundercracker opens, there’s another hallway leading to a more normal-looking doorway.

Thundercracker speeds up a bit, long legs easily outpacing mine. He’s got the other door open before I reach it, holding it open for me.

“Hey, Star,” he calls, suddenly smiling.

“Finally!” The voice is shrill. “Someone with actual sense! Who’s that?”

“This is Cynosura.” Thundercracker beckons me inside, and I look at Starscream for a moment before bowing my head.

I figure a show of deference is probably a good idea.

“Another medic? Why?”

“She’s just here to learn,” Thundercracker replies, shrugging like it’s no big deal to him. “How’re things, Star?”

“Appalling.” Starscream snorts, but he suffers the affectionate wingtouch from his trinemate with only a superficial show of reluctance.

They really don’t do well alone.

I take a few steps closer. So does Hook, and he waves me over. “Here, Cynosura.” He passes me a datapad. On it, there’s a note, and it’s clearly meant specifically for me.

_The following information is only available to you because you’ve got medic’s access. I know you know what that means, so don’t abuse it._

_Don’t use comms, he’ll sense it. We’ve deactivated his weaponry, but he’s still lethal, and he’s really smart. Don’t try to interrogate him, he doesn’t respond well to that._

_Physically, he’s in good shape. There are some issues with his coding, though, most likely caused by him editing his own code more than once. He had to do so to function. I’ve been his medic ever since we joined the Decepticon Cause, and he used to be a lot more stable. He’s always been a genius, an excellent flier, and he does have diplomacy and leadership training in his background, but that never impressed Megatron._

_He was Megatron’s punching bag and his outlet. That meant frequent abuse, frequent rapes, both of frame and spark. More than any of the others suffered through. I believe he often offered himself to shield his seekers. I’ve reconstructed his wings, his cockpit, his face, every part of him more than once. He suffered through a lot of abuse in silence, and towards the end of the war he was in constant pain from old and new injuries that Megatron didn’t allow him to have repaired. He may look pristine now, but that kind of abuse has left more marks than any one mech should live with._

_Regarding his mental state:_

_He was always a private mech. He may have confided to his trinemates, but I doubt it. He tended to react aggressively to any prying. But I do suspect he’s been suffering for vorn, and just pushed through because he’s stubborn and knew he was the only thing that stood between Megatron and his seekers – which is probably also why he didn’t talk to anyone. Don’t be surprised if there’s old, old trauma there, possibly even from before he joined the Cause. He’s also prone to acting out, so be careful._

Well. That’s illuminating.

I turn my focus back to the conversation. It’s way over my head – sounds like they’re discussing wind patterns or something. For all that I don’t understand it, it’s illuminating too, in its own way. There’s nothing in Starscream’s talk that makes it sound like he’s not in possession of his full faculties. He’s sharp, decisive, eloquent…

… brilliant.

“… and for all that the idea is good, the currents of Vos would never work,” he says. “We’d need somewhere with more of a downdraft. Somewhere like Kaon. But you know Megatron,” again, the name is a sneer, “will never agree to us taking rations enough to essentially go trick-flying. Even if the plan is sound and will pay off. He doesn’t care.”

Thundercracker catches my optic for a moment. His words slow, like he’s taking extra care to be clear, like he knows what he has to say won’t go over well. “Star… Megatron doesn’t decide for us anymore.”

Starscream suddenly looks suspicious. “What do you mean? Is this some plot of Skywarp’s? What kind of mad scheme has he come up with now?”

“It’s not a scheme,” Thundercracker tries. I move aside slightly, so I can see Starscream’s face. “It’s the truth, Star. You know I don’t lie to you.” He lifts his hands, puts them on Starscream’s shoulders. “Megatron’s gone, Star. He’s dead.”

For a moment, Starscream frowns on him. Then his face goes carefully blank. His optics unfocus. It’s only for a moment, then he seems to almost shake himself and give Thundercracker a stern glance. “Don’t lie, you say. That’s a lie if I ever heard one.”

I’m sure, then, that he does remember what happened. But he doesn’t want to, so he’s flinched away from it enough times that it’s become almost a tic. He’s repressed it.

I’ve got my work cut out for me here.

 

I spend all day observing Starscream. How he interacts with Thundercracker and Hook. How he works in the lab – that’s a nice change, to see how proud he is of what he’s accomplishing.

My mind is going a hundred miles a minute by the time we’re finally getting ready to leave for the night.

Thundercracker is staying with Starscream for a few more days. That doesn’t mean I’m alone, though. Hook is packing up as well, and though he’s grumbling about having to hitch a ride on the baby jet, it’s good-natured.

I’m actually glad he’s traveling with me. He’s an untapped well of information, and since we’re both medic-classed, we can share information freely.

It’s time to pick Hook’s processor.

I call out to Silverbolt the moment I’m on board. “Hey, Silverbolt? Can you mute your internal audials for a while? Or whatever the equivalent is? We have medic things to discuss.”

“Sure thing, Isobel.” Bless Silverbolt, he’s such a sweetspark. “Just comm me if you need something, okay?”

“Thanks, ‘Bolt.”

Hook looks at me with faint curiosity. “He still calls you Isobel?”

I shrug, my shoulder blades dipping. “Most of them do. It’s hard to disconnect a name from a person.” I sit down one seat down from him. “So. Way I see it, I can ask for files and information on my clients, and you have to give it unless there’s a compelling reason not to. Am I right?”

“You are right.” Hook watches me carefully. “What kind of medic things do we need to discuss?”

“I want to know how Megatron impacted your lives.” I give him a stern glare. I’ve been watching Starscream pass those around all day, I can do a pretty passable version by now. “ _All_ your lives.”

Turns out Hook knows a thing or two about stern glares too. “You do realize I can’t tell you anything about specific individuals unless they’re your clients.”

“Well, that’s good. Because I’m not asking about any individuals, whether they’re my clients or not.” Stern glare for stern glare. I can win this yet. “I’m asking about _Megatron_. And since he’s deceased, any lock on his files has been removed by now.” I lean forward a bit. “Please. I need to understand.”

He stares at me for a moment, then his glare softens. “Fine. Consider this a Decepticon history lesson.” He leans back. “Let’s see. Where to begin?”

It feels like story time with Skyfire back on Earth. I do have a feeling that this story is much grimmer, though.

“I wasn’t there when it all started,” Hook begins. “We were drawn in when the Decepticon Cause gained momentum. Megatron was passionate, idealistic, energetic, eloquent, strong - the revolutionary we needed at the time. He was easy to follow, because he was _right_ , and he believed in the Cause. He was charismatic enough to drag us all with him into the fight, and we followed him eagerly.” He leans his head back, resting against Silverbolt’s bulkhead. “He had this knack of surrounding himself with talent and skill. Soundwave was the first, of course, but he paved the way for the rest. Starscream and his trine. Deadlock. Us.” He smirks. “A lot of disappointed, armed mecha that were all too willing to fight their way to freedom.

“Megatron was in his element, back then. A general, a fighter, someone who could light the fire and direct the explosion. He was untouchable. Invincible. And we fought for him. We were honored by his attention back then.” He sighed. “It didn’t start going wrong until later. When the revolution had turned to a war.”

He turns to face me. “Here’s what you have to understand about Megatron. He was an amazing revolutionary, but he sucked as a leader. As soon as the movement settled into an army, as soon as the uprising settled into a war, he started making bad choices. He stopped listening to his advisors.”

“So how did he keep the Autobots at bay?” It really does feel like a history lesson. One I’ve only heard the other side of before.

“He managed because he was absolutely fearless. He’d attack when no one expected him to. He’d head into battle himself. And even then, he was this eloquent speaker that could whip the Decepticons into a battle frenzy in moments. But he wasn’t a leader. Not like Starscream could have been, for example. And Starscream tried. But he was young when he joined, and had stars in his optics for Megatron, and didn’t argue as hard as he should. By the time he found his backstruts and started protesting for real, it was too late.

“When we crashed on Earth, everything took a turn for the worse. Suddenly Megatron had to plan tactically, to keep us alive in a foreign environment. There were so many priorities we had to make – repairs, fuel, contact with Cybertron, getting our ship spaceworthy again. And what does he do instead?”

“He attacks the Autobots,” I murmur.

“He attacks the Autobots,” Hook agrees. “Not only that, he keeps attacking. He orders raid after raid after raid, is blindly focused on Prime, grows increasingly impatient and violent, even towards his own soldiers.” He sighs, suddenly sounding weary. “I’d like to say there was a reason for it. I’d like to say the first rape happened after we crashed on Earth, that there was something in Earth’s fuel that made him do it. But I would be lying.” Now he’s turning away from me, like he’s ashamed. “Truth is, I repaired blown circuits and crumpled wings on Starscream before the Autobots had even started contemplating leaving Cybertron. Rebuilt his cockpit and chest plating not long after that. He kept coming back in with torn off wings, heavy dents, torn lines, even when no battle had taken place recently. Others started coming in with similar injuries – Thundercracker, Onslaught, Astrotrain, Ramjet – but it was most often Starscream. And it kept getting worse.

“On Earth, it escalated. Before that he’d been unstable, but on Earth he went mad. You couldn’t speak against him. Not even Soundwave could, who’d been safe from the more violent outbursts until then. I had to do work on him too. I even had to repair my own gestalt mates after his attacks, even though I tried to use my status to protect them. And the Stunticons… No sooner were they activated than he started using them too. There’s a reason that whole gestalt is insane. He made them that way.”

I’m getting chills. I don’t know if I can even get them in this body, but I’m getting them anyway.

“It got to the point where the soldiers were relieved to be captured,” Hook continues. “They were safer in the Autobot brig than they were under Megatron’s rule.”

“I remember Ratchet saying something along those lines,” I put in. “He felt horrible every time he had to send someone back.”

Hook nods. “I owe Ratchet a debt. He always made sure he sent our soldiers back to us in better shape than he got them.”

For a few moments, none of us say anything. I’m thinking about what he’s said – there’s something I don’t understand.

“So…” I begin. Hook looks at me. “If he was that bad, why did you all stay with him?”

“That’s the ultimate question, isn’t it?” Hooks sounds almost wry. “But we didn’t see any options. The Autobots were still the enemy. Most of the soldiers had no respect left for Starscream. Soundwave freaked them out. And for all his flaws, and there were quite a few of them, Megatron was still fearless. Still charismatic. Hadn’t lost any of his strength, and had also grown more paranoid with time. I suppose Starscream helped ingrain that habit in him.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “We didn’t have any other options. Not until Starscream killed Megatron, and we all had to take a step back and examine the mess we’d become.” His mouth twists in a small smile. “I’m still grateful to him for that.”

He leans back against the bulkhead again, optics dimming. I get the feeling he’s told me everything he means to.

I let him have the silence. I have a lot to think about.


	8. Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags, people! Heed, heed!

_Dear diary,_

_Today, we had our first group session at the center. Smokescreen and me were both there, leading it – and I was more than a little worried it’d be a fluke, but people actually showed up! We did do ourselves a favor and chose a theme that pretty much everyone can relate to, Coping with loss and moving on, but even so. Place could have been empty._

_It was more than a little awkward at times, though. There were mecha there from all three factions, and they were far from comfortable with each other. But they were all civil enough, and towards the end they were even cordial._

_Scavenger was there. I’m not really sure why, but maybe he just felt like joining. He’s a sweetheart, really, almost childishly happy and excited sometimes, and very easy to read. Despite the purple brand on his chest, the others related easily to him._

_On the other hand, Huffer, for all that he’s an Autobot, annoyed quite a lot of the others. He’s cranky and whiny and constantly tried to one-up the others – his loss was always worse than the others’, his pain greater, his story more important._

_I think Huffer needs a few one-on-one sessions._

_I’m so glad it went so well. It gave me courage to try a few more group sessions. We just have to figure out what theme we should be dealing with._

_Smokescreen had a suggestion, too. Quite a lot of the mecha here won’t be too happy to be exposed in a group like this, to have others know what they’re thinking and feeling. In the Decepticons, showing that kind of emotion was a weakness that would get you abused or worse, so it’s not that weird that they’re private about it. So Smokey suggested that I give talks; set the group room up a bit differently, send out open invites or hang up posters or something, and then just talk about my chosen subject. And then I can bring up more difficult themes, and let the audience know that they can see me directly if they need to. We can even form specialized groups after a while._

_I kind of like it. I figure I can start out with anger management, decision-making skills, maybe one on PTSD. And then we can take it from there._

_Speaking of which, my psych center’s been named! Someone down at the government building has been trying hard to reimplement the pre-war custom of naming all the important buildings, and no one’s been able to convince them it’s a bad idea. So Ratchet’s hospital is now the Crystal Garden Memorial Hospital, and the government building is the Unified Cybertron Grand Hall, and the square in front of it is the Peace Square._

_Grand names for such humble structures._

_I was stumped when it came to my own center, though. They left it up to me, giving me two weeks to come up with something, and I had no idea. I toyed with using something from Earth, but I was a bit afraid that no one would get it._

_One of the Neutrals who came by the session convinced me, though. She said it’s my center, I should pick something that’d matter to me, no matter if people get it or not. If they don’t, they will ask._

_So now my building is called the Jeremy Harrington Center of Psychology. I’m going to put a plaque up on the wall in the front room, telling everyone who Jeremy was._

_Smokescreen approved. So did First Aid and Groove, for that matter._

_I’m glad I made that decision. It feels right._

I hear First Aid’s voice before I see him. He sounds excited about something. I’m looking up at the door, waiting for him when he walks in.

He shoots me a smile. “Sure, Ratchet, I’ll tell her. Yes, she’ll be there soon. Yes, I’ll get someone to escort her, don’t worry. Fine. Have a good shift. I’m kind of jealous.”

I wait until he’s clearly ended the comm call. “What are you jealous of?”

First Aid smiles as he leans over to kiss my forehead. “Ratchet has an exciting shift ahead. I’m jealous I’m missing it. And I’m a bit jealous of you, too, because he wants you over there ASAP.”

“Me? Why?” I stand up hurriedly, downing the rest of my cube. “Does someone need help?”

“No.” That smile again, and I’m kind of sorry I have to leave. It’s a very inspiring smile. “He says it’ll be a learning experience for you. And you should hurry, love.” He quietens for a moment, optics unfocused, before grinning again. “There. Mirage will escort you. Go on.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m going to recharge. Love you, Isobel.”

“Love you back.” I grab him, make him kiss me properly. Well, as properly as we have time for. “See you when you wake up.”

Mirage comes dashing down the stairs just as I lock the door behind me. “Hello, Cynosura. What’s so urgent, do you know?”

I shrug. It’s such an eloquent gesture with these shoulder blades. “I have no idea. First Aid was excited, though, so it’s probably a good thing.”

“Well, let’s get you to the hospital, then.” He offers me a smile. “Full speed?”

“If I don’t obey the traffic laws, Streetwise will be so mad at me.” I follow Mirage down the stairs. “Legal limit?”

He chuckles. “You got it.”

 

Ratchet’s hospital is really not that far away. We’re there in less than five minutes, and that includes walking down the stairs.

I say my goodbyes to Mirage and walk inside, waving back at Greenlight when she calls out which floor I need to go to. For once I drive up the ramp, which is a lot of fun even at fairly slow speeds, until I get to the floor above the one I used to spend all my time in.

There’s a series of glyphs on the door to the ward. I can’t read it all, but I recognize the glyphs for ‘spark’ and ‘new’.

It makes no sense. Thankfully, Ratchet’s just inside, waiting for me. He’s smiling too.

Whatever’s going on, it’s a good thing.

“Hey, sparklet.” Ratchet takes my elbow, guides me further into the room. We stop just past a partition, where there’s a berth.

An _occupied_ berth.

Ratchet winks at me. “Welcome to Cybertronian Reproduction 101.”

I stare at Grapple and Hoist. “Is a visual demonstration part of it?”

Ratchet snickers. _Snickers_. “Yes. But not in the way you suspect, I think.”

It better not be. If there’s a visual demonstration, I hope it’s not of the beginning of the process. I’m not that much of a voyeur.

“Come. Sit.” Hoist offers me a smile and nods towards a chair. He looks even more excited than First Aid did. “We’re glad to have you here.”

Cautiously, I sit down where indicated. “Not that I’m not glad to see you guys, because I am, but… What’s going on?”

Ratchet’s snicker blooms into a full laugh. “I am sorry to spring this on you, Isobel. But an opportunity has come up for you to witness something rare and, frankly, quite amazing.”

Grapple smiles, almost shy, and squeezes Hoist’s hand.

Wait just a gorram minute.

“You see, Grapple here is carrying,” Ratchet continues, busying himself with checking medical equipment and hooking Grapple up to a variety of it. I’m sure he’s doing it just so I won’t see he’s still snickering at me, the fragger. “And the emergence has begun.”

My brain finally connects the dots, and my mouth falls open. “No _way_.”

“Yes way.” Hoist chuckles good-naturedly. “We’re having a sparkling. Today.”

Grapple blushes again.

“Congratulations,” I gush, the surprise finally fading a bit. I’m getting inundated with good news these days. “That’s so awesome, you guys.”

“Thank you.” Grapple sounds as happy as Hoist, but he also sounds more than a little nervous. “We’re very excited.”

“I bet you are. It’s a big deal.” I turn back to Ratchet, who’s preparing a clear plastic basin on a wheeled stand. That, at least, I know the function of. Especially when he puts a soft pad in the bottom of the basin to work as a mattress would. “So how does it work? You can’t just throw me in at the end of the process like this.”

I’m rewarded with a soft chortle. “No, I guess I can’t, can I? Very well. We have some time before the bitlet makes their appearance.” He pulls up another chair and sits down beside me. “Do you know how newsparks are formed?”

“I’ve gathered it has something to do with spark-merging,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. “But I don’t know the technicalities.”

“And your partner is my best medic,” Ratchet mutters, but it’s fond. “Well. Spark-merging is done for pleasure, relaxation, bonding and reproduction. It doesn’t really take that much to conceive a newspark. Much as with humans, a single merge can do it. And you don’t even have to be bonded to do so, though it may be easier to conceive for those who are. Hence why having an inhibitor installed to prevent conception is free of charge and available to anyone who wants it.”

I nod to show I’ve understood. And to acknowledge the warning glances he keeps giving me.

Message understood. Don’t show up carrying a newspark just yet.

Ratchet is just like every dad ever.

“The carrying process takes about a vorn,” Ratchet continues. “For the first quarter-vorn, it’s just the newspark residing in their carrier’s spark-chamber, orbiting the carrier spark. Then production begins. The gestation chamber, located here,” he prods my abdomen, “begins expanding, pushing other less-important systems into subspace. Among those systems is the transformation cog. That means that once production begins, the carrier will no longer be able to transform. For some, that’s the first sign they’re carrying.” He shoots Grapple a smile. “Most, like Grapple here, notice the newspark fluttering around their spark, however. It’s draining and tickly and fascinating.”

“Okay.” I nod again, my head spinning a bit. “And production is…?”

“Production is the manufacture of the sparkling’s physical frame, inside the gestation chamber,” Ratchet explains. “It’s taxing and requires a lot of energy, so the carrier will need increased rations and less work for the entire period. If the chamber and newspark doesn’t get enough energy or materials, the process will abort and the newspark will reabsorb into its carrier’s spark. The materials will be purged from the chamber and taken up by the carrier’s body. It’s physically painless, but emotionally it can be very taxing.”

Kind of like Earth, then. Somewhat.

“When production is complete, the newspark migrates from the carrier’s spark chamber to the gestation chamber and joins with the protoform frame. Once the joining’s complete, the emergence starts. The joining can take several weeks, however, as the spark learns to operate its new frame. For Grapple, it’s taken three and a half weeks, and that’s perfectly normal.”

Ratchet stands up and moves over to stand by the berth, next to Grapple. “Once the emergence starts, a notice pops up on the carrier’s HUD. That’s the cue to seek a medic. Most often we’re not needed, but if we are…”

I nod. “Like humans. We can give birth by ourselves, but if something goes wrong, it’s better to be in a hospital.”

“Exactly.” Ratchet points to the monitors. “These are monitoring the spark stability of both Grapple and the sparkling. Everything’s fine so far, so I’m not worried. I’m mainly observing, at this point.” He turns back to the berth, waving me closer. “Now. The emergence itself is slightly complicated, a bit messy, but not dramatic. At least not when everything goes well. It begins on the front of the abdomen, here,” he points at a vertical line down Grapple’s front. “The plating will split apart. Armor plates first, then the layers beneath until the gestational chamber itself shifts forward and spirals open. That’s when the messy part starts, as the lubricants that have been buffering the sparkling’s frame over the last three-quarter vorn flow out.”

Grapple blushes a bit again, but he’s taking fairly well to being used as a teaching aid. Better than I would in the same situation, I bet.

“The sparkling itself is curled up in a protective shell for emergence, and the shell will transform apart gradually in the first hour or so after it’s emerged. It’ll be soft and grey, with no kibble and few defining facial features. All that comes later.” He turns back to me with a smile. “So? Any questions?”

“Not right now. I might have some later.” I look down at Grapple’s abdomen. There are no signs that there’s a baby in there. Not like with humans. “So now it’s just waiting?”

“Yeah.” Hoist smiles proudly at his mate. “Though it shouldn’t be long. The outer plating has already started transforming away, see?”

“They have?” I lean closer, then pull back to look up at Grapple. “I’m sorry. Can I see?”

“Of course.” He takes my hand and places it on his abdomen. “But it’s easier to feel it. Can you feel them sliding apart?”

Under my fingers, his plating is vibrating. As I stare down with wide optics, the individual plates shift apart by about a centimeter. “Wow.”

“Wow is accurate.” Ratchet hands Grapple a cube of energon. “Here, fill up. It might not take too long, but we still have to wait for a while.”

 

A while is right. I’m putting the finishing touches on my talk on anger management when Grapple finally gasps. I look up just in time to see his plating split apart fully and a torrent of fluid come gushing out.

Messy indeed.

“Oh my,” he murmurs faintly, looking down at himself. “That’s… a lot.”

“Needs to be, to cushion the sparkling.” Ratchet is all business. “Any pain?”

“None.” Grapple takes Hoist’s hand again even so, though. “There’s pressure, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“Good.” Ratchet smiles down at Grapple’s somewhat disturbingly open abdomen. “Then he’ll be along any minute. Hoist, get ready to catch.”

I offer my hand for Grapple to hold when Hoist lets go. Standing by his shoulder gives me a front row seat to what’s going on, without having to actually look into his stomach cavity. I much prefer the new view.

“There he is,” Hoist whispers. “There he comes. Oh, Primus, dearspark, he’s perfect.”

I lean forward just a bit, enough to see the clear silver orb that’s sliding slowly out of Grapple’s frame. It looks like a slightly oblong orb, all covered in segmented metal and lubricants, shining a bit in the light. Hoist catches it as it finally falls free.

“Oh my goodness,” Grapple breathes as a small tremor goes through the silver shape. “Oh my goodness. Hoist, we did it.”

“Congratulations.” Ratchet is smiling as he hands Hoist a soft cloth. “Dry him off, and let’s see if he won’t join us.”

I watch, almost entranced, as Hoist’s thick fingers rub the cloth in small circles over the silver plating. It dulls where he touches it, the segments beginning to slide apart.

Between one blink and the next almost, the segments come apart and fall away. In Hoist’s hands, there’s a twitching, tiny, chubby, soft-looking baby robot.

I can’t describe it – him – any other way. He’s a robot, but he’s a baby, all short limbs and chubby tummy and random movement. When big, blue optics open, and tiny mouth makes tiny sucking motions, I can’t hold back the squeal.

I’m sold. He’s adorable.

I want an armful of them.

“Hello Level,” Grapple coos, reaching for his offspring. “Hello, dearest spark.” He picks up the infant, holding him securely and in a surprisingly familiar way, cradled up over his chest and spark. “I’m so glad to meet you.”

“He’s beautiful,” I murmur as the small face rubs against Grapple’s plating, and small clicks and chirps emerge from a tiny vocalizer. “Congratulations.”

“The first sparkling since the war ended,” Ratchet says quietly, almost awestruck.

Hoist grins. “Not the last though, I bet.”

“I hope not.” Ratchet reaches out, lets one finger run down a small silver back. The sparkling is so tiny, Ratchet’s finger almost covers his back completely. “We need to rebuild our population. They’re part of our hope for the future, these defenseless little things.” He sounds almost wistful.

I lean closer, a bit hesitant. “Can I touch?”

Grapple smiles at me. “Sure. Use just one finger though, like Ratchet did.”

The silver protoform is soft under my finger, almost malleable. I melt completely as the touch elicits more of those little chirrs. “He’s gorgeous.”

“He is. Fine and healthy.” Ratchet takes my elbow again. “We’ll give you all time to bond. I’ll come back in a few hours to check your plating and his coloring.”

I follow as Ratchet tugs me away. There’s just time for one last smile back at the happy new family. “Thanks for letting me be here.”

“You’re welcome.” Hoist flashes me a quick smile back before his focus turns completely to his family.

Ratchet tugs me out of the ward. At least he lets go of my arm as the door shuts behind us, and nods towards the ramp to indicate where we’re going. He doesn’t say a word until we’re in his office with the door closed. Then he flashes me a grin.

“Tempted?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I admit, and suffer the ensuing smirk aimed at me. “But not yet. I have too much to do still. But just knowing that it’s an option, you know?”

“I do know. I know exactly what you mean.”

I’m getting the feeling that Ratchet’s yearning for something here. And that that’s as close to an admittance as he’ll ever get. I have to suppress a grin – I don’t want him to think I’m laughing at him, but putting Ratchet and sparklings in the same sentence has the potential for so much adorable that it’s hard to not show how I feel.

Instead, I toss around for something to say, something slightly less private, and remember some of my questions. "So the sparkling’s color will come in today already?”

“Somewhat.” Ratchet digs through his shelf of datapads, probably trying to conceal his previous reaction. “He’ll begin to get faint colors today, enough that we should be able to tell his base color at least. More defined facial and bodily features will come in within the next few vorn, and once he’s a youngling in twelve vorn or so we’ll begin to see kibble. That’s when we’ll finally see what he’ll be – though I suspect some form of vehicle alt, with those parents. That’s when he’ll give us his name too.”

I nod along, but that last bit makes little sense. “His name? But his name’s Level.”

“His sparkling name is Level, yes.” Ratchet smiles fondly. “We find our own names, though, when we’re old enough. Sparkling names are just so we can call our bitlets something in the meantime.”

“I guess that makes sense.” As much as the rest of it, anyway. I smirk at Ratchet. “So what was your sparkling name?”

Ratchet actually blushes slightly. “Nipper. Apparently I bit a lot when I was new.”

I’m not going to laugh at him. I’m not.

Alright, I might grin a bit.

Ratchet busies himself with the datapads again. “And that’s not something you want to ask just anyone, sparklet. Not all mecha were sparked like Level.”

“Oh?” I sit down at the spare chair. “What other ways are there?”

“Some are sparked by Vector Sigma. Almost like you, except from Vector Sigma instead of an Earth body.” He finally finds the datapad it appears he was looking for and passes it to me. “Here. This covers sparkling development. It’s written for medical students, but you can skip the technical bits if you want.”

“Thanks.” I take the datapad and slip it into subspace. He’s not getting away that easily. “So who’re sparked by Vector Sigma, then? Is there any difference?”

He shakes his head. “No difference at all in the makeup of the spark. But Sigma-sparked mecha can come online as adults, they don’t have to do all the growing. Sparklings are time-consuming and expensive, much more so than building a frame and requesting a spark for it. When it comes to who…” There’s a slight frown aimed at me now. “Not something most mecha will be open about. It doesn’t really matter, but it’s still a fairly private thing. For some it’s public knowledge - like the Aerialbots. They were brought online by Vector Sigma because we needed fliers. But for others it’s more of a secret, and I expect you to keep it to yourself.”

He waits for my confirming nod before continuing.

“I’m not giving you the full list, because you don’t need it. But it will be useful for you to know that there is a difference, just so you see that there really isn’t. Prowl is a Vector Sigma mech. So is Red Alert and Blaster. Soundwave too, I suspect, and the Rainmaker trine, possibly some of the other seekers too.” He throws me a glance, expression unreadable. “And the Protectobots are Sigma mechs as well.”

Now I get the look. That’s the ‘how’s she going to react to this’ look.

Like it matters where they came from. My Protectobots are mine no matter what. And it’s not like I’ll disown Prowl or something because of how he was created. And honestly, seeing alien robots birth live young is almost more freaky than accepting the idea that they’re all created from a central power source.

“They were created because you needed a second gestalt?” I guess. “To counter the Decepticons?”

Ratchet nods and relaxes a bit. Apparently, I’ve passed some sort of test. “That, and a team that could work closer with the humans. They’ve been a success story from the moment they onlined.”

I have to smile at that. “Well, they are pretty awesome.”

He smiles back and sits down. “How are you three doing, anyway?”

“We’re good.” I blush a bit as I consider the details I’m definitely not going to tell him. “I’m… thinking about asking them to move in with me.”

Ratchet chuckles. “Based on the way First Aid is talking, I suspect they already have and you just didn’t notice.”

“What? No.” I’m shaking my head – that can’t be right, can it?

Ratchet just grins at me, though. So I have to think it over for a moment.

Groove was there when I came home last night. And First Aid came home to my apartment this morning, and went to recharge in my berth. And they both have the key code.

And Groove keeps leaving his datapads on my table. First Aid’s at least put them on the shelves…

I snort a laugh. “Huh. Maybe.”

Ratchet, the slagger, is laughing at me. I pick up a clamp and toss it at him. It goes wide, of course.

“I see we need to update your hand-optic coordination code.”

“Mute it. It’s not my fault I don’t have targeting software.”

He chuckles at that a bit, before giving me another of those looks. “You thinking about making it official?”

A bit surprisingly, I understand what he means without further explanation. Maybe because it’s been on my mind of late. I look down for a moment. “I don’t know. That’s kind of a big decision, isn’t it?” _Pull yourself together, Isobel. Ratchet isn’t that scary._ I meet his optics again. “Do you think they would have me?”

There’s a small smile on Ratchet’s face. “Sweetspark, I watched those two pining over you for a solid vorn. I don’t think you could make them not want you if you tried. But you’re right, it’s a major decision. Want my advice?”

I didn’t know that that’s what I needed until now. It’s such a relief, actually, to have him offer, and I know he can hear it in my voice. “Yes, please.”

“Then give it time.” He looks proud now, happy, and I don’t know why. It’s Ratchet, though – he’ll probably tell me. He’s never shy with his opinion. “You have so much on your plate right now, sparklet. You don’t need to rush into anything. Groove and First Aid, they both love you. They’ll be there when things settle down.” The smile grows into a full grin. “We’re not at war anymore. And I’m so proud of you for what you’re doing.”

Ah. There it is.

I go around the desk so I can hug him. He feels like more of a parent to me right now than ever. “You’re right. The war’s over.” I straighten again and wink at him. “So you should go home to Optimus tonight and get started on making those sparklings.”

I ignore the sputters and half-formed defenses as I wave at him and turn to leave. I know I’m right.

And I know that Ratchet and Optimus will make excellent parents. They are for me, after all.

I suppress a giggle as I walk out. I’m willing to bet I’ll be a big sister in a vorn or two.

 

I’m smiling all the way back to the psych center. It’s hard not to, even though I’m sure I look like a loon – seeing Level, all the weirdness of the actual birth aside, and then letting my imagination run wild on Ratchet-and-Optimus babies and Jazz-and-Prowl babies and Bluestreak-and-Skywarp babies and very carefully skirting around the idea of First-Aid-and-Cynosura-and-Groove babies… It’s no wonder I’m smiling.

The added bonus of looking happy is that people are happy to see you, even if they don’t know you. The little café owner on the corner gives me a smile and a wave, as do the Neutrals sitting on the bench in front of the fountain, and that old mech who’s a friend of Hot Rod’s.

I wave back, and all I can think of is that the pool of the fountain looks shallow enough for kids to play in. That the undeveloped park across the square would make a good playground, and wait a minute maybe that’s why they haven’t developed it yet and does someone in charge know something I don’t?

I’m seriously running a one-track mind today.

It lasts until I’m walking into the psych center – I kind of abandoned Smokescreen in charge today, with orders to just set up appointments and look at case studies – and see a familiar form waiting for me.

“Hey, Thundercracker! Nice to see you again. How’s Starscream?”

He smiles at me, but there’s something tentative about it. Behind him, at the front desk, Smokescreen is frowning. Almost glaring, in fact. It’s enough to put me on edge a bit. “Star’s his usual self. No better, no worse.”

“I’m coming out to see him once a week,” I offer. “I’m sorry it’s not more often, but with another client requiring a daily visit as well and my appointment book swamped it’s really all I can do.”

“I’m grateful,” he reassures, hands raised and everything. “I know you have a lot on your hands with the others. It’s… kind of why I’m here.”

“Oh?” I’d arch an eyebrow if I had one, and I can feel my face doing something, but I don’t know what it is. I should probably look at my expression in front of a mirror. “You want to set up an appointment?”

“Yes.” He hesitates, and Smokescreen’s glare intensifies, and my plating would be crawling if it could. “But not for me.” He steps aside. “For him.”

Soundwave.

Maskless, for some reason, but still Soundwave.

I’m back against the door before I realize I’m moving. My spark’s spinning faster too.

“Please, Cynosura.” Thundercracker’s voice is entreating. “I don’t pretend to know how you feel. But he needs help too.”

Damn it.

_Damn_ it.

He’s right. Thundercracker’s right. I have a duty of care towards everyone, and that means Soundwave too.

_Fuck._

“Ground rules,” I force out. “Smokescreen will be present for every session. If he can’t make it for some reason, I’ll either have First Aid or Ratchet present. If none of them can be there, we cancel. And there will be a guard outside the door.” I’ll find the money to hire one somehow. Maybe Hot Rod or someone else, a warrior who doesn’t have a skill-specific job right now.

Thundercracker looks incredibly hopeful. So does Soundwave, for that matter, when I finally gather enough courage to look at him.

He looks friendlier without that mask on.

“It is appreciated,” he says, and his voice is almost normal. It’s not the emotionless monotone I remember. That must have been the mask too. “I am grateful. Thundercracker: also offered to sit in on sessions. Safety, comfort: imperative.”

His speaking pattern’s eased up a bit, too. Not much, but enough to be noticeable.

I look at the blue seeker. “You’ll need to sign a confidentiality agreement.”

He nods. “That’s fine. You’d be okay with me there? It’d be for both your sakes.”

I consider it for a moment. Thundercracker’s never hurt me. He’s always been careful and cautious around me, but he’s never given me any reason to doubt him. Heck, he was one of my favorite Decepticons before peace even happened. And I do remember reading in Ratchet’s files that Thundercracker was one of the least aggressive ‘Cons.

Yeah, I trust him.

“You can be there,” I agree. “It’s fine.” Plus, he also has a vested interest in keeping me alive and well, since I’m one of his few hopes of ever getting Starscream back to himself. “Do you want to set up an appointment, or should we just start right now?”

“Do you have time right now?” Thundercracker sounds hopeful again, and slaggit, it’s hard to say no to him.

“Nothing else set up,” Smokescreen says, looking at me from behind the desk. “Nothing until tomorrow. Unless you wanted to start on that thing we talked about.”

He’s giving me an out. And I appreciate it, but I don’t think I’ll need it. In fact, it’s probably better to just start now so I don’t freak myself out about having to treat Soundwave in the future. “Now’s fine. Will you comm someone to be on guard outside?” It’ll have to be as a favor this time, but I’m sure we can find someone.

He smiles slightly. “Jazz is already on his way.”

That earns him a look. I bet Jazz had other things to do than standing outside a door, listening for signs of trouble. Smokescreen just shrugs, completely unrepentant. “He offered.”

I sigh. “Fine. Let’s start in ten minutes – that’ll give Jazz time to get here and me time to fuel. You two, take a seat for now.”

I manage to keep my cool until I’m past them, though I feel like I’d rather just flee. Can’t do that, though. Not this time.

Damn it. At least I hope he’s not out to hurt me.

I fill a cube, add my carbon to it, and send a ping to First Aid and Groove. I suspect First Aid is still in recharge, which is probably right since Groove is the only one responding.

::Hey, Belle! How’s your day so far?::

::It was good until now,:: I reply, curling up in my somewhat unnecessarily comfy office chair. ::But I just got a new client. One who freaks me out.::

Groove is instantly serious. ::You don’t have to treat him if you don’t want to. He can demand nothing from you.::

::I’m a medic, Groove. I have to help.::

::Not when it damages you,:: Groove points out. ::And if this is who I think it is, he’s done plenty of damage to you already.::

Clever, protective Groove.

::I already said I would help. And Smokescreen will be in there with me, and _he_ brought a common friend to be there as well. Plus, Jazz is standing guard outside. I’m as safe as I can be.::

There’s a pause. Groove clearly doesn’t like it. ::If you think so, dearspark. Just… if you feel worried or anything, cancel the session, okay? You’re allowed to. Do you want me to meet you after?::

I shrug, even though he can’t see it. ::Don’t know yet. I’ll comm you, okay? And thanks.::

He chuckles lightly. ::Thanks for what? Caring? I’ll always do that, Belle. I love you.::

Aw, now I’m all warm and fuzzy. A serious improvement from near-panicky and upset. ::Love you too, Groove. I’ll see you later, okay?::

::Definitely.::

The connection cuts just in time, because there’s a sharp knock on the door and then Jazz sticks his head in. “Hiya, sweetspark. Ya ready for the big bad ‘Con?”

I sigh. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suspect. Thanks for being here, Jazz.”

“’Course.” He takes my hand and tugs me to my feet. “And by the way, ya’s comin’ home with me afterwards. Prowler’s insistin’.”

It’s been ages since I saw Prowl. And I haven’t seen Jazz and Prowl together since… Since I woke up. I had intended to go home to Groove, but… maybe today is a day for parental figures. Groove will get it.

“That sounds good.” I sigh again, then stand up straight and square my shoulders. “Alright. Let’s begin.”

 

_Dear diary,_

_I am so exhausted. This day has been a rollercoaster of the extreme variety._

_Soundwave has issues. Turns out, not only was he abused by Megatron, sexually and otherwise. But he was also forced to watch quite a lot of abuse of all kinds, inflicted on everyone from Starscream to the lowest soldiers. And all that watching’s hurt him almost as much as the actual abuse he suffered._

_Smokescreen did well. It’s the first time he’s sat in on an appointment like this – up to now, I’ve mainly had him studying and attending the group sessions. It’s a good test for him. Not that I was actually testing him, but it’s good to know that he can keep calm and professional in a setting like that. I have great hopes for him._

_Thundercracker kept silent as well. He was this statue in the corner, meeting Soundwave’s optics whenever he looked that way, nodding every now and then. I’m not sure why he was there, really. Maybe as a friend? I didn’t know Soundwave and he were close, but then again, I haven’t seen much of either of them outside of official business._

_It was so nice, relaxing with Jazz and Prowl this afternoon. They were all worried about me. Plus, it gave me another chance to gush about Level, and to get more advice on bonding from a couple who’ve been bonded longer than I’ve been alive. Longer than First Aid’s been alive too. Pit, probably longer than all of the Protectobots combined._

_Not unsurprisingly, their advice echoed Ratchet’s. There’s no rush. Be patient._

_I can be patient._

_And it’s not like I don’t have two gorgeous Protectobots to come home to anyway. Jazz just laughed at me when I told them how First Aid and Groove had moved in without me even noticing. Apparently he’d tried doing the same thing to Prowl, but Prowl was much too observant. I’m clearly not observant at all. Well, not on that front anyway._

_They even escorted me home afterward. Prowl said he was fairly confident that the two of them stepping in for Streetwise would satisfy Ratchet’s requirements, so I got to drive. And when Jazz saw how I was driving, he offered to take me to the race track next week to really get some practice in. It seems like my driving needs some work._

_I hope I can fit it in. I have a day with Sunstreaker and a day with Starscream, two talks, one group session and a full appointment book._

_I love my life so much right now. Despite all the chaos. I don’t think I’d change a thing if I could._


	9. Just when everything was going well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay! I honestly thought I'd updated this in June. I'll make up for it with one more in July. Hope you like this one!

I’m starting to know the way to the twins’ cave by heart. Or spark, maybe, I don’t know. And with both Ratchet and First Aid coming with me, the latter towing what is in essence a mobile repair bay, it’s a good thing I don’t have to focus on finding the way.

Today’s a big day. Sunstreaker is getting his maintenance done.

It’s taken several sessions to get him ready for this. He does trust Ratchet, and First Aid to an extent, but in order for him to be repaired fully, he’ll need to be put into stasis. And that scares him. I’d probably never have convinced him to accept repairs at all if it hadn’t been for the fact that his shoulder’s seized up, making this horrible grinding noise whenever he tries to move his arm. And with his shoulder out of commission, he can’t really paint. That’s a powerful motivation for Sunstreaker.

“Pit-slagging fiends had to choose the most inaccessible fragging cave in existence,” Ratchet grumbles as he and First Aid maneuver the heavy trailer down the last steep slope. I’m on lookout duty, trying to spot the most difficult parts of the descent and warn them in advance, since I’m not strong enough to actually take the trailer’s weight. You wouldn’t think either Ratchet or First Aid are strong enough either, by looking at them, but they’re seriously strong. First Aid has explained that they need to be, if they’re to be able to handle their patients.

“Can’t even get it inside the damn cave,” Ratchet continues. It’s almost like he’s a steam engine, using curses and swear words to keep his pressure up. I’m trying not to giggle at the thought. “This isn’t the kind of repairs I like to do in fragging open air.”

Oh yeah. That’s another challenge. The mobile bay is too large to get inside without actually expanding the doorway, which Sideswipe nixed rather vehemently. So for this to happen, we need Sunstreaker to come outside. If he doesn’t, there’s nothing we can do today.

Well. Nothing Ratchet and First Aid can do. I can still go inside and work with him if it comes to that.

He really does need the repairs, though. We’re all hoping that it’ll be possible to get him outside, even though he hasn’t been out of the cave since the day I woke up.

The heavy trailer is a cumbersome load, not meant for steep slopes and uneven, rocky ground. I can see the moment it starts slipping, but there’s nothing I can do aside from calling out a warning. They try to steady it, but it’s no use. The trailer slides the last few meters down to the bottom of the ravine, only stopping and teetering dangerously on the edge of the last drop. I’m sure it would have fallen over and crashed if strong red arms hadn’t caught it.

“What are you doing, towing this thing out here?” Sideswipe asks, laughing. “Couldn’t you just have had Blades airlift it in or something?” He gives the trailer a pat as it settles finally on the ravine floor and winks at me. “Hey, Isobel.”

“Hey, Sideswipe.” I stare at him. “You’re red.”

“Well, yeah.” There’s an easy smile on his lips as he does a twirl for me. “Sunny decided it was time for a repaint. He never thought I looked right in silver. Like it?”

I nod. “It looks good.” More than that, I’m thrilled that Sunstreaker actually decided to paint his brother. That shows real progress. He’s beginning to take an interest in the world again.

“Where is the ray of sunshine, anyway? Still inside?” Ratchet still sounds annoyed, but I think it’s at the general situation more than it is at Sunstreaker for not being outside and waiting for us. He’ll be as careful with Sunstreaker as I’ve told him to be, I’m sure. Ratchet knows what’s at stake here, probably more than many others would.

“Still inside,” Sideswipe confirms, nodding towards the dark crevice in the wall. “Why don’t I help you set this up, and Isobel can go get him?”

“Sounds good.” First Aid flashes me a smile. “Go work your magic, love.”

I smile back. “Sure.”

Magic, he says. If only it was that easy.

I turn and shuffle into the crack, following the familiar twists and turns until I emerge in the bright cavern.

Sunstreaker’s waiting for me. He looks as nervous as I expected – optics pale, a faint trembling in his frame as he paces back and forth in the small room.

“Sunstreaker.” I take care to keep my voice mild and make sure he sees I’m approaching. “It’s good to see you.”

I’d been half afraid that he wouldn’t acknowledge me at all, but I needn’t have worried. I’ve barely finished speaking before he’s up against me, holding me close with his one functional arm and resting his head against mine. “Isobel.” The word is soft, almost a sigh.

“Hi, sweetie.” Not very professional, but I’ve all but adopted this one. If anyone has anything to say about that, I’m sure I can find something to say back.

For a moment, we just stand there holding each other. Then I pull back slowly. I’ve learned by now that Sunstreaker’s perfectly happy to cuddle away an entire session. Which was fine and good in the beginning, but we need to focus beyond physical reassurance now.

“Ratchet and First Aid are waiting outside,” I say softly. “Are you ready?”

He hesitates. There’s so much tension in his body, it’s almost as if he’s fighting to not pull himself back from the crack that leads outside. “Can we… Can we wait a little?”

I’m so glad he’s actually talking, it’s hard to even say no. “Just a little, Sun. We can wait until they’re done setting up.” I take his hand and squeeze it. “Did you fuel yet?”

“Yeah. One cube, like the doctor ordered.” There’s a trace of the old Sunny in his smirk. “Don’t want to set off the Hatchet.”

“No, we don’t,” I agree. “By the way, I love Sideswipe’s new paintjob.”

That relaxes him a bit. He’s standing straighter, almost preening. “Thanks. It’s a major improvement.” He eyes me critically. “We should do something about yours, too.”

“Mine?” I look down at myself. “I kind of like mine. What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, the color scheme’s fine.” He lets go of my hand, circling me with a critical eye. “The green is a shade too bright to match your visor, though, and you’ve got the wrong white. It looks like you got the one the medics use, which is meant to match with red. You need the one that blends with a cooler spectrum of colors. And you could do with some highlights.” His finger touches my shoulders, then my hips, then my abdomen. “Silver edgings too, maybe.”

“That sounds good.” I grin up at him. “I’ll set up a time, if you get the paints?”

The smile I get in return is nothing short of brilliant. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Then let’s go get your shoulder fixed.” I tug at him. “The sooner you’re in good shape, the sooner you can make me look good!”

He chuckles at me – and I love hearing that, it’s been ages since last time – and follows me indulgently. At least at first. The closer we get to outside, the more I have to tug at him to keep him moving. I keep a firm hold of his hand. If I can just get him outside, to Sideswipe and Ratchet and First Aid, he’ll be more okay.

The bright light outside almost blinds me. I let Sunstreaker stop for a moment just inside the door. “It’s bright. Recalibrate your optics, sweetie.”

Then I tug him outside.

Somewhat outside, anyway. Because the mobile repair bay has an actual floor, and the others have set up a tent of some sort around us. We’re outside, but not really.

It’s really clever. I bet it’s something Ratchet insisted on to avoid getting contaminants into Sunstreaker’s systems during repairs, but it’s good for Sunstreaker’s psyche too. I can see the white fading out of his optics, returning them to a more relaxed color.

“There you are.” Ratchet’s using the same tone he’s always used with the twins. I’m grateful he’s keeping to the plan we laid in advance. “Slag, what did you do to yourself? Are you trying to run yourself into the ground?”

Sunstreaker stares at him for a moment before shrugging. “I’m still shiny.”

“Shiny as the Pit,” Ratchet returns. “All gloss covering the fragging mess underneath. Come on, up you get.” He pats the medberth and shoots Sideswipe a glare. “Don’t think I don’t see you snickering over there. I’ve read Aid’s reports. You’re next.”

Sunstreaker laughs again, bringing a startled smile to Ratchet’s face, then lays down. He tenses infitesimally, and Sideswipe is at his side in an instant.

Ratchet’s told me the twins never separate for surgery. They made such a racket in the beginning about being separate from each other for repairs that he’s given up, and now lets the other twin stay unless the surgery’s on really sensitive components like processor or spark chamber. Sideswipe will be at Sunstreaker’s side until he wakes up again.

“Sweet dreams, bro.” He kisses Sunstreaker’s forehead. “I’ll be right here.”

Ratchet connects to Sunstreaker’s medical port, and Sunstreaker’s optics dim again.

I settle back against the cliff. There’s nothing for me to do but wait.

 

“There.” Ratchet reattaches the last part of Sunstreaker’s hip plating. “That’s all we can do for now. I’ll bring him back online.”

I put away the datapad I’d been writing my next talk on and stand up. Sunstreaker’s optics are brightening slowly before suddenly dimming again. “Slagging hurts,” he groans.

“Yeah.” Ratchet’s voice holds no pity. “We had to replace more gears and lines and cabling than I’ve ever had to before on a mech that hasn’t been slagged completely. You had vorn-old damage, Sunny.”

“From the battle with Shockwave,” Sideswipe supplies helpfully. And somewhat daringly, judging by the irate look on Ratchet’s face. “I still had dents and dings from that too until Aid fixed me.”

Ratchet harrumphs. “Slaggers. Anyway, your shoulder should be fine now. The rest of you too, though I’d like to follow up on that knee in a couple of days. The cabling had frayed almost completely, and I want to see it reintegrate properly. Aid can easily check that too, if you don’t want to come in.”

Sunstreaker shakes his head. “No. Not coming in. Aid can do it.”

“Good. I’m leaving you a – hang on. Aid, take over.” He turns around, hand raised to his audial to show he’s being commed.

“We’re leaving you a week’s worth of med-grade energon,” First Aid says, offering Sunstreaker a smile as the other grimaces. “I know it tastes like slag, but your systems need it. And we need you to transform at least twice a day. Drive a bit too, if you can manage. Your t-cog is showing beginning signs of atrophy, so you need to use it more.” He looks at Sideswipe. “There’s a good race track a few miles from here. No one uses it at night. Streetwise is the one monitoring it, when it is monitored.”

Sideswipe nods to show he’s understood. I have my doubts that Sunstreaker’s ready to go racing quite yet, but with the rate he’s improving, who knows? It could be sooner rather than later.

“Slag.” Ratchet turns back to us. “That was Magnus. I have to go. Aid, can you finish up here? Isobel, you’re with me, command needs you. They just don’t know it yet.”

“Sure.” I wonder what’s going on. Ratchet sounds almost nervous, which can’t be right. And it can’t be a medical emergency, or First Aid would have to come too.

I hug the twins goodbye and plant a kiss on First Aid’s lips. “See you tonight?”

He grins. “Definitely.”

Sideswipe snickers. “Lovebirds. When are you tying them down, Isobel?”

I poke him. “None of your business. I’ll see you two next week.”

I wave at the chorus of goodbyes and turn to follow Ratchet up the hill. ::What’s going on?::

::Trouble,:: he sends back. ::We’re needed in command. There’s been a transmission.::

That doesn’t give away much. But maybe Ratchet doesn’t know that much either. It certainly doesn’t calm me down at all.

 

I haven’t driven this fast on Cybertron before. Ratchet sets a speed that keeps us just shy of breaking the speed limits, which is quite a bit faster than Streetwise has let me go so far. It takes much less time to get back to the council building than it did to get out to the twins’ cave, and that’s discounting the extra hassle of the trailer.

Ratchet barely waits for me as I transform. He’s clearly impatient to get inside. Something must be seriously wrong.

Inside the council building, it’s quiet. There’s a couple of guards standing unobtrusively by the walls right inside the doors, and a receptionist. Aside from them, it’s empty. Ratchet gives them all a nod and hurries through the main hall, then up a ramp that leads up to the top floor. It’s all I can do to stay on his heels.

Off the ramp, he heads for a pair of double doors, pulling one open for me and following directly behind. Inside is a large space, with a big table in the middle and computer consoles along the walls. The room is full of people. Soundwave and Ultra Magnus have their heads together over a datapad, with Thundercracker hovering behind them. Prowl and Jazz are both talking to Prime, and Optimus looks more worried than I like to see him. Perceptor is seated at the table, a small mountain of datapads in front of him. Scrapper is next to him, his one solitary datapad looking strangely out of place.

“All right, we’re here,” Ratchet says crisply. “Now, what in pit are we doing?”

“Hello, Isobel,” Prowl says. He actually looks surprised. “Not that I don’t like seeing you, but why are you here?”

I shrug. “Ratchet brought me.”

“We’re going to need her.” Ratchet crosses the room and drops down in a chair, nodding towards the one next to him. “Call it a gut feeling. And it’s not like she doesn’t have the clearance. Sit, sparklet.”

I obey. There’s not much else I can do before I know what’s going on.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Optimus says, nodding at Jazz and the others to sit down as well. “Red Alert won’t be joining us in here today, as he’s manning the security hub. He will be listening via comms. If everyone’s ready, this special council meeting can begin. Jazz?”

“Yeah.” I’ve never seen Jazz look this serious. “As y’all were told, we picked up a signal. It’s broadcasted fairly widely, but thanks t’ Soundwave’s signal blockers, most of the average population didn’t pick it up.”

This is the first I’ve heard of signal blockers. I frown at Jazz – frowning at Soundwave is still a bit beyond me.

It’s Prowl who takes pity on me and explains. “Our new comm net is still fragile. Rather than risk it overloading with interstellar signals, which it would if some mechs were allowed to pick up all the signals they wanted –“ he gives Soundwave a meaningful stare, and, strangely, Scrapper “- we’ve implemented signal blockers that funnel the off-world signals down to a localized comm system that’s been built to handle it. The signal blockers aren’t a permanent fixture, but until our comm net is more robust we need to keep them in place.”

That sounds plausible. Not that I know anything about the technology involved.

Jazz clearly takes my silence as permission to keep going. “Th’ signal wasn’t decrypted. An’ it originates from just th’ other side of our new star.”

“They’re still broadcasting?” Red Alert’s voice comes directly into my head. He’s patched into all our comms at once, it seems.

“They are,” Jazz confirms. He looks even more grim than he did a few moments ago. “Th’ message is still the same. I don’t even want t’ recap it for ya. Th’ whole thing will make more of an impact. Soundwave?”

Soundwave nods. A moment later, an alien voice streams into the room.

“…repeat, we await your response on the third rotation of your planet from now. Any hesitancy beyond that will be swiftly and strongly punished.” There’s a pause – clearly we tuned in at the end of the message. “Cybertron. This is the Intergalactic Alliance. On behalf of the ruling council, the member civilizations and the allied races, we are hereby serving you notice. The Decepticons and the Autobots are hereby charged with multiple counts of mass murder on civilians, use of prohibited weaponry, slavery, mass destruction, attacks on unevolved planets and non-sentient species, eradication and destruction of unevolved planets and non-sentient species, genocide, and numerous counts of excessive violence. You have the right to defend yourselves against these accusations, in which case a trial will be held in a location which shall be mutually decided. You may also request further details of the charges.” There’s another short pause. “Though both parties are considered guilty, not every individual will carry blame. In light of the recent peace brokered between the Autobots and the Decepticons, the Alliance is content to charge the leaders of both factions. We give Megatron and Optimus Prime three rotations of your planet to ask for more information and craft a response. Any delay beyond that, or any lack of response, will lead to the Alliance taking decisive action against the people of Cybertron. Repeat, we await your response on the third rotation of your planet from now. Any hesitancy beyond that will be swiftly and strongly punished.”

The message begins over again. For a moment, no one’s even venting. It’s like we’re all frozen in stone.

“…well, frag.”

As one, everyone turns and stares at Ultra Magnus. He looks as stricken as the rest of us, which isn’t a good look for him. By the incredulous looks on Prowl’s and Optimus’ faces, the cussing is out of character too.

Magnus is undeterred by suddenly being the focus of everyone’s attention. He gets himself back under control, the look of surprise being replaced by a sharp frown. “We have a lot of work to do and not much time to do it. Let’s get started.”

 

_Dear diary,_

_I don’t even know what to say. How could everything go to Pit so fast?_

_The council’s been meeting all day. I sat in on it for a while, before I needed to get out of there – the whole ‘which laws can we use in our defense’ and ‘some of the allies might be persuaded to be on our side’ and ‘what about that planet, we never raided that’ got to be a bit too much for me._

_Four million years of war is finally catching up to them. And it isn’t pretty. It’s downright scary, actually._

_To no one’s surprise, Optimus suggested he’d surrender. The look on Ratchet’s face kind of threw a wrench in his plans though. That’s not counting the physical wrench that hit him a moment later._

_I’m almost laughing at the entire situation. The alternative is that I start crying, which... Well, I’ve done enough crying over these guys’ war._

_Before I left, we’d decided to ask for a meeting with their representative. That’ll maybe buy us some time. Not that anyone seems to have any great hopes that we’ll get out of this unscathed._

_After the meeting, I went to the archive. Turns out we actually have one, in the basement of the council building, and it’s manned by the cutest little minibot Neutral called Digit. He found everything they had for me on this Intergalactic Alliance, and it wasn’t comforting._

_I feel like I’m suddenly up against the entire Jedi order or something. And I’m the bad guy._

_Well, not me specifically. Regardless of anyone’s willingness to let Optimus sacrifice himself, I don’t think they’ll let it come to where the civilian population is punished. So there’s that._

_Gah, my head hurts. I don’t know what to do._

_I don’t think anyone does at this point._

 

There is some comfort in sitting in front of my massive window, staring out at a dark Cybertron. Mostly dark, anyway – there are streetlights, lit windows, but the sky is dark. I can’t see the stars from here, but I know they’re up there.

I know _they’re_ up there too. Sitting in their massive spaceships and plotting our destinies.

“Hey.” Groove reaches out, squeezes my hand. “It’ll be okay.”

I sigh. “You can’t know that.”

“No, I can’t,” he agrees. “But the Alliance is fair. We may lose the trial. But for most Cybertronians? For us, you, all the Neutrals, most of the base troops? It’ll be okay.”

“Megatron’s dead,” I point out. “In case you’ve forgotten. He can’t be punished. What if they decide to punish someone else instead? Skywarp was head trine. What if they demand his death? He’s about to be bonded, and I haven’t seen Bluestreak this happy ever, it just wouldn’t be fair. And Soundwave was third in command, but he’s finally found peace now too, not to mention he’s got six cassettes depending on him. Or what if they decide they want Starscream? He’s already seriously unstable, he can’t defend himself.” I lean backwards, my head hitting the wall with a thunk. “I don’t know what to do.”

There’s a slight smile on Groove’s face. “I know this is an unpopular opinion, Belle, but _you_ don’t actually have to solve this. Leave it to Ultra Magnus and Prowl and Optimus and the rest. Optimus is a skilled diplomat, and Ultra Magnus knows every law in existence – and Prowl sees all the loopholes. They’ll come up with something.” He kisses my cheek. “Come to berth?”

“Not yet.” I shake my head. “I have too much on my mind to sleep. I’ll just sit here for a little while longer.”

“If that’s what you need.” He touches my shoulder, runs a hand along the blade there. “Don’t stay up too late. First Aid finishes his shift at midnight, he’ll be back then.”

“Okay.” I watch as he walks back towards the berth room, and a thought suddenly hits me. I would have remembered to ask sooner, but everything that’s happened in the last couple of days kind of pushed it out of my mind. “Hey, Groove?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you two live here now?”

The grin I get for that is positively impish. “Took you long enough to realize, didn’t it?” He walks back, embraces me and rests his chin on the top of my head. “I know we didn’t ask. We just wanted to stay close to you.” I can feel his lips on my finials. “We spent so long not knowing if you would live or die. It’s a comfort every day to see you up and about.”

It’s so peaceful here, in Groove’s arms. I miss another Protectobot against my front - it seems too cold now that Groove’s pressed against my back – but he’ll be home soon.

Suddenly I don’t want to sit up by myself gazing out the window anymore. I want to snuggle in against Groove’s chest and forget that there are any kinds of trouble in the world. Or in the space around it.

Groove must be psychic. Either that, or the way I relax against him gives it away. “Come on, Belle. Let’s get to berth. First Aid will join us when he comes home.”

Home. I like having a home with these two in it.

 

Somehow, recharging on the matter helped. I woke up in the morning with a fully finalized plan in my mind. Which is why I’m halfway across town already, my half-full energon cube in my hand.

I bet quite a few of my new family would have words to say about what I’m about to do. But it needs to be done. And anyway, when I told First Aid and Groove all they said was ‘of course you are, love’ and ‘good on you, Belle’. So I figure I’m in the clear.

The prison is unassuming, a large, grey building at the edge of town. There’s a smaller front office attached to it, so that’s where I’m heading.

Surprisingly, I’m not nervous. I can talk my way in there. I haven’t really had the chance to talk to Ultra Magnus or Prowl about mandatory psych treatment for the Stunticons, but I’m making an executive decision. They can argue about it later if they want to, but I get the feeling they’ll be too busy.

I don’t know the bot watching the camera feeds. He’s golden, completely absorbed by what he’s doing, and for some reason there’s a lion’s head on his chest. I can’t remember seeing him in my files at all, but something about him says he’s not a Neutral.

“Excuse me.”

No response.

“My name is Cynosura. I’m here for the Stunticons’ mandatory psychological evaluation.”

He blinks, slowly, without looking away from the screens. “Springer will be here in a moment.”

O-kay. Guess I’m waiting for this Springer, then.

It’s not a long wait. The heavy door into the prison proper is practically thrown open, and a green bot almost storms out. He glances at the golden bot. “I swear, if those Throttlebots gets themselves thrown in here for kicks one more time, I’m going to stomp on their heads, Autobots or no.” He leans over the counter, looks at the multitude of small images on the screen. “Anything suspicious on the cameras?”

“No.” The golden bot’s voice has an almost growly, feral quality to it. “All quiet.”

“Shame.” The green bot straightens again, a slight pout on his face. “Would have made the day more interesting.”

I have a feeling these guys haven’t heard about our ultimatum-bringers in the sky yet.

“You have a visitor,” the golden bot offers. “Name of Cynosura.”

“Oh!” The green bot’s face brightens, and he turns towards me with a wide smile on his face. “Thanks, Razorclaw! Hey, Cynosura, I’m Springer.” He holds out a hand for me to shake. “Ironhide mentioned you might come by.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He’s got a seriously strong handshake. “Yes, I’m here to do mandatory psychological evaluations on the Stunticons. Could you escort me inside?”

“Absolutely. Just a few safety precautions first.” He steps back, looks me over. “Are you armed?”

“No.” I shake my head. “My alt-mode doesn’t carry weapons either.”

“No loose kibble? Wildrider especially is prone to grabbing at things.”

I can feel my shoulder blades twitching as I flinch. “Nothing loose. But thanks for the warning – I’ll keep him in front of me.”

“No incendiaries, explosives, chemicals, sharp blades, fuel or treats?”

I raise an eyebrow at him. Or whatever my face actually does now. “Want me to empty out my subspace?”

He chuckles. “Nah, it’s fine. We have to ask, but I don’t figure you want to break any of these guys out. Hot Rod says you want to help, and that wouldn’t really be helpful. Come on.”

I follow as he pulls the heavy door open again. It looks like nothing to him, but the steel’s as thick as Springer’s legs. “You know Hot Rod?”

“He’s practically my brother.” Springer waits until I’m inside before pulling the door closed. “We’ve served with Ultra Magnus’ group since we were old enough to sign up. He said you two’d met.” He leads the way through the hallways, pointing things out and explaining as we go. “Down there are the deep cells. We haven’t had anyone there since we first got here, when the Insecticons kicked up a fuss. They settled down once they got a territory of their own. And that way’s the commissary, where we refuel and get fuel for the prisoners. Overnight cells, for the rare time Streetwise drags in bots too overcharged to stand on their own feet. The Stunticons’ ward is that way. High-security that way – currently empty except for Vortex and Sinnertwin.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce _us_ , Autobot?” The voice is almost challenging. “To your pretty little companion?”

Springer sighs, stops before one of the cells. He looks at me. “This wing is for long-stay, lower-security prisoners. It’s usually inhabited by these two. Runabout, Runamuck, this is Cynosura. She’s a mind medic. Cynosura, meet our two semi-resident troublemakers.”

The black prisoner – Runabout, if I got the pointing right - grins. “It’s in the names.”

I snort. “Of course it is. So what did you do?”

Runamuck shrugs. “Nothing much. Drove a bit too fast.”

“Crashed a bit too hard,” Runabout supplies.

“Destroyed a bit too much property.”

“Ran over a few too many minibots.”

“As I said. Nothing much, really.” Runamuck winks at me.

Springer sighs. “They think they’re funny. But this is exactly the kind of behavior that brings you back here after a few weeks of freedom. If you don’t tone it down, you’ll be stuck in the deep cells eventually.”

They don’t look too perturbed. “Aw, knew you cared, bounce-bot.” Runabout grins.

“Besides,” Runamuck continues, almost where his brother – at this point, I’m almost certain they’re brothers – left off. “You’d miss us if we weren’t in here.”

“Yeah, like a pain in the aft,” Springer deadpans. “You’ve got a few more weeks left, guys. Come on, Cynosura. The Stunties are this way.”

I follow him through another doorway, ignoring the jibes and catcalls from behind me. Those two aren’t my concern right now.

Springer pulls the door shut behind me, but I’m already looking ahead.

The Stunticons’ ward seems almost designed for them. There are five cage-like cells set up in a row, each one stretching back into an alcove of sorts with a berth in it. The setup reminds me of the cell structure they kept Laserbeak in on Diego Garcia, the one that could be changed at will – except this one looks to be constructed from some sort of laser bars, not metal ones. I guess that makes sense.

I look the bots inside over, trying to remember who’s where.

Motormaster is the mech closest to me. He’s huge, as big as Optimus, with a massive black chest and a hooded black cowl and a mean snarl on his face. He looks like he could crush me and not even notice.

I try to tell myself I’m not afraid. That there are bars between me and him. That I have a strong mech standing next to me.

It doesn’t help much.

Next to Motormaster is Drag Strip. Bright yellow plating, a smug smile on his face, he eyes me like I’m something to eat. It makes my plating crawl.

The mech in the next cell isn’t still. He’s darting back and forth, leaping and spinning. Small zaps echo through the room whenever he touches the cell bars, which is often.

“Wildrider needs to move,” Springer explains quietly, probably noticing my surprise. “It’s why their cells are so big. Not that the others take too much advantage of it, except sometimes for Drag Strip.”

I nod to show I’ve understood. The explanation, anyway – I’ll need to actually talk to Wildrider to understand what drives him to throw himself into the bars like that. It has to hurt – I can see singed marks on his plating when he holds still for long enough.

In the cell next to Wildrider, Dead End sits on a low bench. He’s running a cloth over the plating on his legs, leaving a lustrous sheen behind.

The cell behind him looks to be empty. I glance up at Springer questioningly.

“Breakdown hides,” he says, even more quietly than earlier. “His paranoia is even worse than Red Alert’s, and he can’t stand being watched or focused on at all. We even had to aim the cameras away.”

Drag Strip stands abruptly, kicking the cell bars. “Hey, sweetling! Come to have a good time? I’m the best time there is!”

I have my work cut out for me with these mechs.

“Will you give me some time alone with them? I’ll stay away from the cell bars.”

Springer nods. “I’ll be watching you on camera. There’s no sound, though. At the smallest sign of trouble, I’ll be back, okay?”

“Thanks.” I offer him a smile. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

I walk over to the other end of the row and stop in front of Dead End’s cell. Pointedly not looking at the huddled pile of plating in the back of the end cell. “Hello, Dead End.”

“Hey, doc.” He offers me a small smile. “Come to learn more about my beauty routine?”

“That too,” I allow, because I want to keep him talking. “And to see where you guys were holed up.”

“There’s not much to it. But there never was going to be. And it’s not like it matters.” He starts polishing one arm. “We were always going to end up in a hole. This is actually a better one than I’d have expected.”

“Bullshit!” someone roars. I’m taken back by the human phrase even as I turn to see Motormaster glaring at me again. “This is slag! When I get out of here I’m going to pummel whoever’s in charge.”

“Charge charge charge,” Wildrider chants. “Bet you’re charged up, aren’t you?”

Motormaster punches the bars, hard. In my sidevision, Breakdown flinches.

“Shut up,” Motormaster growls. “You’re all worthless pieces of scrap. When I get out of here, I’m getting rid of all of you.”

“No more Menasor then,” Drag Strip replies, though I notice he keeps well away from the bars. “Megatron won’t like that.”

“Megatron’s dead!” Motormaster roars. “Dead and gone! Who the frag cares what he would like?”

“He wanted to kill the Prime,” Dead End puts in. “Guess that’s never going to happen now.”

“He’ll get dead,” Motormaster sneers. “Not that you’re gonna help, you defeatist piece of junk.”

“At least I’m shiny.”

This is such a dysfunctional group of mecha. I’m starting to wonder if maybe they should be separated, brothers or not.

I watch and listen for a while longer. There’s not much sense to be had – it’s all who’s going to kill who, who’s worthless and why, Drag Strip boasting, Wildrider laughing and mocking, and Motormaster snarling and shouting at everyone. In the middle of it, Dead End keeps calmly polishing, and it’s clearer than ever why he does. I would need an escape too, if I had to stay around these mechs.

I knock at the door to be let out much sooner than I had thought I would.

Springer eyes me questioningly as I walk out. “Did you get what you needed?”

“Some of it.” I got started on an evaluation. No conclusions yet, no treatment, just a beginning. So that if the Alliance decides any Decepticon must pay, I can at least say that the Stunticons are undergoing treatment. I can at least try to keep them safe.

I should probably do the same for the others. “You said Vortex is here?”

“He is,” Springer confirms. “Did you want to see him too?”

“Yes, if that’s possible. And any other Decepticon or Autobot you have in here. I’d like to do evaluations on all of them.”

It’s going to be a long day.

 

_I thought the Stunticons were bad. Vortex is worse. He seems to want nothing more than to bring others pain, and he’s skilled at it. He was another one I had to stay out of reaching distance of, but he was damn good causing pain with his words as well._

_I’ll need to focus before I try tackling him again._

_In contrast, Sinnertwin and the brothers were almost straight-forward. They want something, so they go get it. Whether it’s a fight or a race or a frag – Runamuck’s words, not mine._

_I can work with that. It’s appalling behavior, but I can work with it._

_Ratchet commed me at the end of the day. The representatives for the Alliance will be here tomorrow, and he wants me present. Just in case, he said._

_I can only too vividly imagine what kind of case that will be._

_I’m going to spend the evening making notes and setting up easily readable files for Starscream, the twins, the Stunties, Soundwave and anyone else I think need it. I’m not going to let the Alliance take any of my bots._

_Regardless of what Groove thinks, this is something I can help solve. So I will do my damnedest to help. Even against the Jedi Alliance._

_I just hope it won’t be necessary._

_Primus, I hope everything will be alright._


End file.
